I attended a glorious event yesterday, in which two pure souls dedicated themselves to each other — a faithful and loving decision that will either bring joy (or conflict) to the rest of their lives. It was inspirational, engaging and endearing.
That’s until I crossed paths with the Nazi Wedding Cake Cutter.
His name is insignificant. But what is significant is that everyone waits for the cake. Nobody leaves a wedding until the cake has been cut. And everyone usually has a piece. But the other reality is that there is always extra cake left. That’s why when I saw people walking around with slices of cake I decided it was time for me to head back to the table I was assigned and taste my little slice of goodness.
You can imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon the shrimpiest, midgety, column-eque breadstick-like piece of cake on the face of the Earth.
Slices of cake are never supposed to be slices. They’re supposed to be chunks. And they’re supposed to have huge areas of frosting available for the taking. When I look at my plate of cake and it’s the size of my left thumb, well, there’s something strange afoot at the Circle K.
I approached a man I will continue to reference as the “Nazi Wedding Cake Cutter” who was distributing other nicely-sized pieces of cake to people around the room and I stopped him:
Me: Hi. As you can see from what I’m holding in my hand, I wondered if I could possibly get a larger slice of cake?
N.W.C.C.: No.
Me: As you can see from this table over here, they were given larger slices of cake whilest my table was given this shrimpy slices of cake, and it be wonderful if I could just get a bigger piece as to experience the flavor fully…?
N.W.C.C.: No.
Me: NO?
N.W.C.C.: That is the size we are giving out. You take it. That’s it.
Me: But look at THOSE pieces. They’re huge compared to my dwarf-sized slice.
N.W.C.C.: NO.
The little man who I will continue to refer to as the “Nazi Wedding Cake Cutter” turned his back on me and disappeared for what seemed like an eternity, returning with two larger (but still not so huge) pieces of cake.
N.W.C.C.: You take it or leave it. No more cake left.
Me: Well! I never!
Knowing how I like to stand up for the greater good, and how I will always push life’s struggles to the limit, I did what any independent thinker with a great sense of confidence would do.
I ate the shrimpy piece, the piece he gave me, and snagged another one off another table.
In the end, the moral of the story is that if you ever come in contact with as genial as a man as was the Nazi Wedding Cake Cutter guy… Know that standing firm about your beliefs, know that fighting the “man” on the size of the slices, know that even though it’s not your wedding and you really shouldn’t be making a fuss about the size of a piece of cake since the whole evening was free anyway…
You should know that the size of your slice does matter.
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