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We stay busy the rest of the day, choosing outfits and flowers, getting mani-pedis, tasting cakes, and laughing. We laugh so much that my face hurts. Baggy is crazy, I decide as I watch her smear chocolate frosting all over her front tooth and smile at us with what looks to be a gaping hole in her teeth. The appalled look Victoria, the prim wedding cake lady, gives her only serves to make the whole situation funnier.
When Baggy says that she would like to have wedding cupcakes, the uptight woman splutters, “Cupcakes are not appropriate for such a solemn occasion.” Baggy shows no sign of backing down, so the woman turns to me for backup. I must look like the most reasonable—or stuffy—one. When I steadily stare back at her, she adds, “This is a wedding, not a six-year-old’s birthday par
