Wedding Cake In the Middle of the Road

He wasn't there.

I walked down the aisle, into the church, and he wasn't there. The groom's side was completely empty.

He never told me he had doubts about us. He never told me about the talks he had with his mother about me. That monstrous woman refuses to believe that I've changed. I thought he'd forgiven me. I stopped the drugs, the drinking, the cheating, and the baby was his.

The red I saw was not of the roses covering the aisles, nor of the velvet on the seats. I went from being blinded by love, to hatred and anger.

All I could think of was the cake. The cake. It was a beautiful creation. It had three tiers and butter cream frosting. I cut only the first piece, deciding to save it for a year and maybe enjoy a piece of the dream I'd lost then.

I wanted him to have the rest. I brought it to 3672 Ridgefield Drive and dumped it. He can eat it along with a of fresh squeezed milk from his mother's breasts.

On Working Saturday Night Weddings

Remember to clock in. You want to get paid, remember? And keep busy.
Desserts and sauces are messy but I must keep busy. Making coffee and butterflying shrimp are my safe havens. You're quiet, no one bothers you, but you're still busy. Let the others fool with plating the finger sandwiches and crab salad.

I'm still tired form the last wedding yet here they come. They're also 45 minutes late. I hope the coordinator doesn't let them have extra time.

The doorman hears to police sirens. Here they come. There's the "beautiful" bridezilla and the poor bastard attached to her until he opts for divorce or decides to commit suicide.
We clap while the guests complain about how cold it is. They're loud, hungry, obnoxious, bad joke-telling, non-tipping people but I have to accomadate them for tonight. I'm a Cast Member.