Once upon a time, I was a matron of honor, having been sagely married for just over a year. The wedding – gorgeous. The banquet – utterly fantastic. The bride and groom leaving for their new home in Seattle – *sniff, sniff*.
I had one job after the wedding: store the top tier of the wedding cake and send it to the couple for their first anniversary.
The top tier happened to fit on a plastic lid with the plastic container domed over it. Perfection itself. I kept it well frozen. When the time came for them to eat it and remember the sweetness of their special day, they received a radical and unintended lesson in marriage.
You see, I shipped the cake in its copiously taped plastic container. By air. They received it. All was well.
Not quite the end.
I am not a scientist. It never occurred to me that something might go amiss.
Then my sister called. She laughed uncontrollably. When, at last, she calmed, she let me know the cake was delicious.
Even in its form as a contained explosion. Something something science something something air pressure something something explodey cake.
I suppose the lesson, beyond understanding how contents under pressure react in certain circumstances, is that marriage doesn’t always look the way we think it will. It’s all the same ingredients but changed in a way that is irreversible. It tastes as sweet. It remembers as well. It just looks…well, different. More messy. Less perfect. More fun. Less predictable. And they shared bites and waited for the next surprise, whenever that may come.
Happy (belated) anniversary, sister and brother-by-marriage!