Thanks for your enthusiastic comments on the previous cake-themed post. Here's a quick cake story to kick off your week....
My sister-in-law took me for a winter hike through her little alpine village to see the church where she married my brother. I have no idea why - I mean, I had no real interest in churches per se, but I do enjoy checking out old architecture, and the grand tour about town made Sophie happy.
It was late afternoon when we entered the church, and it was pretty dark inside, save for a small shrine of glowing candles on the east wall and rows of tall, backlit stained glass windows above us. In spite of the low light, I could see that the interior was quite ornate and golden and gaudy in a sort of charming way. We ad libbed some silly captions for the iconic tapestries on the walls, and we were still giggling like heathens when a shaky voice suddenly boomed out of the darkness and scared the shit out of us.
"Aimez-vous mon gâteau?"
I was pretty sure it wasn't God, because the voice was asking if we liked his cake.
There was a large golden throne next to the dias at the front altar section of the church, and as we cautiously approached the source of the voice, we could see the emerging shadow of an old man sitting on the throne. He was staring at us and eating a giant piece of cake from a styrofoam plate with a plastic spoon. He was wearing one of those tissue paper crowns that come from those Christmas cracker thingys. He had a lei around his neck made of sparkly red and silver Christmas tree garland. He was giggling and sing-saying (in French):
"I am the king... I have some cake!
I AM THE KING OF CAKES!
You have no cake! NO CAKE!
Do you like MY cake?
I am the best king ever!"
My sister-in-law began to engage the old man in conversation, and she quickly learned that a local family had rented the large common room and kitchen in the church basement for their Christmas party, and Gramps - who was suffering from Alzheimer's or some other mental disability - had wandered upstairs to enjoy his cake on the comfort of his throne.
It was far too dark to get a decent photo of him, so please enjoy this artist's rendering to your left.
(actual King and Throne not as gay as illustrated.)
We could hear music echoing from below, so Sophie presented her right elbow to him for support, which he happily accepted, although he steadfastly refused to allow either of us to hold his plate of cake for even a moment while we descended the steps from the altar. He was prudent not to trust us. Sophie and I both hail from a long, nefarious line of cake usurpers.
The King shuffled along beside us, rambling on and on about cake and some other stuff I couldn't understand because he was mumbling and still had his mouth stuffed full of cake. He had green icing on his chin, on his shirt, and all over his hands, which were now clinging tight to Sophie's forearm. We slowly steered him down the center aisle and down a narrow winding staircase to the basement.
We returned The King to his People at the party downstairs, where his grateful relatives rewarded us each with a slice of cake, a glass of wine, and a really awkward performance by a group of four tween-aged girls doing some kind of gay voguing routine to a Daft Punk song. It made me wonder if little French girls learn how to dance from Italian game shows. Their style could best be described as 'cheerleading without the pompoms', or - if I'm being really generous - possibly an homage to doin' The Robot.
The King of Cakes helped himself to another big slice, ignoring all protests from some mean old bitch who was slapping at his sticky hands while barking "Non! Non plus!" He winked at me, and when he smiled, the three teeth in his mouth were stained bright green with icing.
Long live the The King of Cakes, for He truly is the Best King Ever.
SLOW WORK DAY? Here's more amazing stories to help you look busy:
- Andy Rooney - special guest on Fire That Agency!
- Skyler's Dad joins the writing staff at Fire That Agency!
- The Green Knight
- The Abominable Snowman
- Last Call