The True Story of Lavinia The Lemon Cake

6 Apr

I was born August 15, 2017, but I didn’t become a celebrity for an entire 24 hours.

A wedding cake on a plane is thing to behold, but I like to think it was me, my personality, that rocketed me to stardom.

I was made for the spotlight.

People stopped and stared right away.

A cake destined for a 2,500 mile journey? I must be something special.

Yes, I assured them. I am.

The logistics were simple, but don’t tell that to my carriers. I shall call them M and A, for they deserve at least an initial in this tale.

M picked me up from my bakery and threw away half of her freezer to store me. This is what we call in nature survival of the fittest. And I, of course, was the fittest.

She met up with A at the Salt Lake City airport and together they each took a layer of me through security, through lines, through my introduction to the world.

The attention was immediate.

“A wedding cake” the TSA agent said. “Send it through the x-rays.”

“A wedding cake?” a woman cried, “I was stressed taking my dress to a destination wedding. I can’t imagine taking a cake!”

Yes, thank you. I am very special and important.

People stared and took pictures with me.

They asked if M and A were going to eat me.

I was kind and generous with my time and my fame, as I am.

M and A seemed stressed.

A had the heavier layer. She kept saying “I have no upper body strength whatsoever!” This was true.

I worried she would be the weak link. I worried she would drop me before we even got to the gate.

I overheard them making vows that if something were to go terribly wrong they would replace me and never tell my bride about it.

This was silly.

You can’t replace me.

There was a layover and more lugging, the descent into Boston and more luggage. A few more carriers joined the journey, one so bold as to take me in a single arm.

M and A complained of fatigue.

Being celebrity adjacent can be exhausting.

I was placed in a temperature-controlled rental car and left with the air conditioning on while my carriers made a stop at Walgreens.

I sat on laps as they drove over bridges into quieter towns, as the landscape turned from city to suburb, suburb to Cape.

Eventually I was delivered to my bride, an intense woman with intense feelings.

She knew of my importance, of how it could only be me, for she had commissioned my existence. She had said only this chef, only this cake and even though that bakery and that cake were across the country from where she was to be wed, she stood steadfast.

She cashed in on years of friendship with my carriers.

She had her mother make a buttercream frosting to top me, had her cousin light candles to finish me.

And when the entire crowd gathered round me and sang —

Happy wedding day to you

Happy wedding day to you

Happy wedding day Jill and Rob

–right before she blew out the candles, holding hands with her groom, she gave me a smile.

She knew how important I was.

I was born August 15, 2017, but I didn’t become a celebrity for an entire 24 hours.

My name is Lavinia the Lemon Cake and this is my story.

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