When my daughter announced a few days before her ninth birthday that she wanted a "Barbie" cake, I had one of those semi-frequent moments of Kinky Friedman-style self-delusion (Kinky, a Texas singer songwriter/author ran for governor a couple of years ago. His campaign slogan was, "How Hard Could It Be?"). You've seen those cakes, right? Sure! I could do this! How Hard Could It Be? I got one of those, whatchamacallit, bundt pans? I could slap some M&M's on there, pipe some icing...
Had to go get a Barbie, first, though, or a reasonable facsimile. Off to Target. Cooked cake. While cake is cooling, I inadvertently left it in the Serving Area, that is, the part of the counter where our basset hound can reach. Result: Total, Delicious Destruction. Count Down Til Guests? Two hours.
Quickly cook a second cake. (Of course it's from a box! My Martha Stewart delusion is quickly fading.) Go get Barbie. Release her from the imprisonment of the box. Stick her in the center of the cake. Guess what? Barbie is easily three inches taller than the top of the cake! No amount of frosting will cover this particular error. What to do? What to do?
I know! I call my husband and tell him Barbie has to have an immediate amputation. He takes the poor condemned soul out to the garage, fastens her to the workbench...and saws her legs off at the knees.
Now she's a little too short. Her arms barely touch the top of the cake. But it's too late to do anything about it. I stuff her in the center and quickly frost around her. The result looks absolutely nothing like the picture above.
Guests arrive. Typical merriment ensues. Finally, it is time for the cake. I bring her out, set her in the center of the table, carefully placing nine candles around her dress. It doesn't look too bad... until the candles are lit.
Barbie is surrounded by flames. My friends begin laughing their fool domestically-competent heads off. Soon I am laughing myself. "Heretic!" I yell, "Confess!" The little girls are confused. What's worse, Barbie's long synthetic, and might I add, highly flammable locks are beginning to smolder.
I react quickly. I yank Barbie out of the cake, forgetting that she had recently undergone the emergency amputation. The little girls scream. Barbie is dropped face down in the red fruit punch bowl. Her singed hair billows about. She looks as if she has suffered some sort of shark attack. And did not survive.
The next year, I gladly forked over the $20 bucks for a nice, safe store bought cake. I am still not sure if I'll be paying for therapy bills, however.
Photo credit: www.coolest-birthday-cakes.com.
This is so funny I laughed my silly head off this morning !! Jamie you belong with my fav comedians or on the "Chelsea Lately" Show !!
That was laugh-out-loud funny. Wait until your daughter realizes that the potential therapy moments are just starting!
That was hilarious. Poor Barbie.
Doesn't Barbie have bendable legs? I might have bent them at the knees to make her shorter, before sticking her in the cake. But maybe I'm confusing her with some other doll...
That is very funny...I can see it happening...I too tried to make a doll cake once...I did not even get to the flaming candle portion of the event...kudos to you for making it to the table. :) I bet your daughter will be just fine and think of the fun you two will have reliving these kinds of memories in the years to come. Laughter is the best therapy out there!!