Let me set the scene.
It is about 8:30 pm last night. Chris and I are watching Juno.
In a word--awesome.
My mind starts wandering towards images of the bundt cake that I made on Sunday.
Said cake is languishing in the garage fridge.
"Hon, can you pause the movie? I want some cake."
I go out to get it and bring it into the kitchen.
Now, I don't have photos for you that document the situation, so you'll have to bear with me and use your imagination.
I had decorated the cake on one of our William's Sonoma dinner plates. I didn't want to cover it with foil when it was time to go in the fridge, because I didn't want to ruin the fabulous frosting job that I had done.
I thought about putting it in my glass cake stand/covered dish combo, but I knew it would be too tall then to fit in the fridge.
Chris just took the glass topper and placed it over the dinner plate and it fit like a charm.
Until it was time to take the topper off.
You see, it turns out that the diameter of the dinner plate EXACTLY MATCHED the inside diameter of the glass cake topper.
Chris tried running warm water over the topper. The plate did not budge.
He tried sticking a knife between the plate and the topper to loosen the plate. The plate did not budge.
He tried gently knocking the plate on the counter to make it come out. The plate did not budge.
Imagine if you will, preggo me, standing by, watching with a combined feeling of "Oh my God I need cake and I need it now" and "Holy crap you are going to break one of my good dinner plates and my gorgeous glass cake topper!"
And imagine, here is the gorgeous, ever-so-moist, sweet cream cheese icing, delectably FABULOUS bundt cake staring out from the glass topper, mocking both of us.
I could just hear it saying "I know I'm beautiful, and tasty. How bad do you want me?"
And the question was, how bad DID we want a slice of that cake.
All of a sudden, Chris left the room and headed to the garage. He came back with this:
I look in horror at the hammer. "Oh my God, you can't use a hammer on my plate!"
He did it anyway. Let me tell you, those essential white dinner plates from William's Sonoma are THICK. After three pops with the hammer on the bottom of the plate, it burst apart and fell out of the topper's grasp.
Chris had cunningly orchestrated his hammer blows to ensure that at least 1/2 of the cake would come out edible.
That is to say--without ceramic shards.
So, I had to say good bye to one of my plates, but in the end, I did get a slice of cake.
Here I am, cutting two pieces, making sure they are shard free, and inspecting which piece has the most icing so I can give it to myself.
We head back to the living room to finish watching Juno and eat our cake.
I place the first bite in my mouth and DANG! I slice the roof of my mouth open! I am gagging and spitting and running to the sink and Chris is FREAKING LAUGHING! I pull a good 1" around piece of plate from my mouth (you know, the shard that is exactly the same color as the icing?)
Just goes to show you. That when SOMEONE does everything in their power to keep you from having your cake, and eating it too, you should LISTEN UP.
You should also be super nice and give the piece with the most icing to your husband.
I am officially off of cake.