Cake fight evite

I didn’t do so well with my first evite. An evite, for those unaware, is an online e-mail of which in the body is notification that someone has invited you somewhere. And to find out who and when and where all you need to do is click on a link which takes you the invitation.

I guess I lied when I said this was my first. A girl at school once sent out an evite to people in our work group about when she would be conducting a meeting. She was the host.

This host, this time (my second, I now admit), was another girl from school, one that I’m also working in a group with. A girl I just met. Her party was to be this afternoon and I clicked on the YES I’ll be there, and I was there, but not at the right time due to a number of errors that I’ll describe here for you.

This girl. Her name isn’t important to this story, but what you need to know is that she is good looking. When grouped with her, I thanked my teacher under my breath. She shared ideas and I love her dark, sometimes sarcastic humor. She's funny and when we made eye contact there seemed to be chemistry.

I’ve been wrong in chemistry before. My high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Meharg, gave me a C. One day in class I electrocuted myself in the back of the room. During one of his lectures I stuck a ball point pen into an open socket and was shocked. I think I've grown a lot since then. I’ve gotten better about realizing when a girl likes me, when I like her. When there is what in chemistry is called mutual attraction. I’m getting better.

Or so I thought. I got an evite to this girl's birthday party. I clicked on the link. Saw she was the host. Saw that deep in the northwest part of town, a neighborhood I used to live in, there would be a Birthday Cake Fight. RAIN OR SHINE, it said. This was how she wanted to spend her birthday. "Please bring a change of clothes (unless you want to get lick)," the evite said. "Following the fight, we will retire to my miniscule apartment to enjoy some fall-themed food while our cake-encrusted clothes go through the wash," I continue to quote the evite. "Gifts not necessary or expected. Cake for the fight will be provided, as will hot cider afterwards." Finally, an afterthought: "Please come, because my girlfriend is an easy target and she’s going to need some defense. ;)"

I read all this and clicked YES, hell yes I’ll be there. "I love cake," I write in the comment box, "and throwing stuff. I’ll do my best to be there."

Girlfriend can mean many things, I’ve come to terms with. Girlfriends: you can go shopping with them; they can help take care of your kids. Girlfriends are there for other girls to talk about boy problems. Go on walks and such. I’ve heard about girlfriends who are girls and friends. Then, I’ve also heard about girls who are more than friends—Gay until graduation. Now I’ve even heard about girls who lick frosting off one another following a cake fight.

I wanted to go. Damn, it sounded like fun. I was a little pissed that this girl had a girlfriend, but I put that disappointment aside when I pictured girls rubbing cake on one another. Fighting and fussing and flinging frosting on breasts, necks, and chests, I could already see it. I didn’t so much as want to fight myself (I'm a food lover), but I really wanted to try and make this. If they want to waste food, I can watch.

On normal circumstances my word is my bond. I didn’t want evite to be an exception. But errors were made.

I have this new roommate. His name isn’t important for the telling of this tale, either. He moved in yesterday and today I personally invited him to the cake fight. The first error: who was I to invite him to a party? I specifically clicked that I would be solo in attendance. But I wanted a crutch, needed one, now that I thought about it: lesbians, a whole crew of them, and me. I'd be caked. So he said he was interested, YES, he said. He said he’d be back by 4:00 and that we’d leave then to be there at 4:30, the time the evite said the cake fight began.

My phone’s incoming calls lists my new roommate calling at 4:16. He said he was on his way. Truthfully, I was on my way out the door. The thing about people is they are flaky. And late. And their word is not always their bond. He showed up, though, and we started driving. I knew we’d be late, but still I wanted to go. We made some wrong turns, went down some one ways that weren’t the right way. We missed some exits. We nearly died.

When we arrived at the park, at what I thought was a reasonable hour, five, I was thinking, 'they’re waiting.' I said I would be there, so how could they start the cake fight without me? Well, as we pull up to the park I noticed that clean-up was underway. The fight was over and I didn’t see licking, so we didn’t get out. We didn’t make it.

I didn’t know the first thing about cake fights before this week. But the most important thing I learned about them is, like any evite, when you say you are going to be there, you should be there on time.

1 comment :

Anonymous said...

By being fashionably late, you got screwed out of cake. Here's a slice of advice for you...don't try to make up for it by throwing yourself a cake party next weekend. You'll only get mudslide pie in your eye.