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A Celebration of Love and Cupcakes

What’s not to like about a wedding? You get to put on those fancy duds, show off your new dance moves, and guiltlessly consume cocktail meatballs and cake all in the name of love! Perfect!
Tonight’s celebration is at a synagogue; and following Jewish tradition, the wedding is not to be performed until after sundown. The almanac charts that at 8:21 tonight, so it’s gonna be a late one. Knowing that I will be happily sipping wine, kicking my heels up to “Hava Nagila” and enjoying wedding cake around the same time I usually call it a night is a bit of a game changer.
Instead of jumping right into the day, I take my time and put together a quiche made with turkey sausage, red onion and apples so that breakfast is later than usual.
Lucky for the happy couple, the weather forecasters were wrong (again) and the day is beautiful! I blow off my house chores and head outside to find Bill contemplating yard work. We decide to spruce up both of our vehicles instead. We convince ourselves it is time well spent, although it seems more like fun than work.
After our hard labor (wink) and a nice dose of vitamin D, we are ready for a late lunch. I throw together some left over pork roast with barbeque sauce, jazz up the plate with some fruits and veggies, and call it good. Bill thinks I go all out—little does he know I am just cleaning out the fridge!
I dash off to run some errands and pick up my dress from the dry cleaners. Upon my return, the couch beckons and I squeeze in a catnap before the night’s festivities.
It takes me a good hour to get ready. Bill, on the other hand, showers, shaves, combs his hair and is good in about 15 minutes—it always irks me. We head out around eight, perfectly presentable in our newly washed car.
The ceremony lasts about an hour, and the fun starts. After two bands, a bunch of hors d’oeuvres, free flowing wine and two cupcakes later, we call it a night.
It’s been a long day and my feet are killing me. Mazel tov!
Why it is so hard to resist wedding cake? Is it just the occasion?  —Karen

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