My Grandmother is an interesting person not only is she the mother of my mother, which is apparently a common attribute. Secondly, she has killed more of my pets than any other person. I believe this started as a retaliation for an injury she suffered by the hands of myself and the teeth of my brother’s pet gerbil cinnamon.
It was my Grandmother’s I believe 60th, in which the relatives decided it would be nice to have a family weekend. My mother’s side being rather extensive and large collection of three uncles all with wives and children. This meant it was a large affair and an expensive affair, which I would most likely partially enjoy. Even though, my eldest cousins and my brother would mock me for about 3 hours, because when I was a smaller child I wished to be called Mary. This wasn’t due to a confusion of gender and or wishing to be a female, unless due to the mockery I am blocking such thoughts, but more to do with really liking the name Mary even if it is generally viewed as a “girl’s name”. Excluding this I was looking forward to spending time with my various uncles and aunts, as well as some of the smaller cousins who had not developed enough so were still in the cute sweet stages of life, not mean, caulis and uncaring.
Nonetheless, I had no choice in the matter as my body adopted to be incredibly ill for the whole weekend. As my family enjoyed games and playing outside, alcohol and evening dinners. I spent the vast majority of my time against a radiator with six or so layers of clothing, shivering as well as simultaneously sweating. It wasn’t exactly a wonderful weekend getaway, however the event to come I have no blame or cause, I am an innocent as I was crumpled into the corner of the room, next to heated water pipes.
My mother, brother and cousin prepared the cake for the evening of celebrations. It was a rich Nigella Lawson chocolate fudge cake, that has the same amount of chocolate, butter and sugar for about 17 separate desserts, which makes it one of the greatest cakes to bake at home. Decorations for the top was a simple chocolate fudge butter cream icing and plunged on top was of course candles. Now a normal person would have thought that 60 candles of a 12-inch spherical cake was a bit much, instead getting the trouble-free two candles in the shape of the number 6 and controversial non-number 0. This candle selection and existing candle design was unknowing to my mother, so 60 candles were crammed into a tiny soft spongy cake.
Now to the none men, women and non-binary gendered person of science and the secret order of fire mages. A candle produces a single small flame, two candles produce two single flames, however 60 candles pushed tightly together produce one massive fire pit. Lighting this ritualistic gateaux, was the use of one match and a domino effect which spread inferno across the glazed fondant. Holding the cake aloft, like a cave man who discovered rubbing two sticks together yields great things, my mother presented the blazing baked good in front of my grandmother’s face.
Placing what should only be considered a small portable fireplace parallel to a person’s face, an elderly person’s face, the ending result isn’t going to be pleasant. My grandmother, only seconds ago enjoying herself reflecting on times passed, was now left with the entrance of hell. Her eyes began to light up, her hair slightly crisping, her noise boiling under the heat grow to 5 times the size as her normal everyday snout. She was burnt, surprisingly badly by a cake that was supposed to bring joy and happiness. The week following evenings ending with a packet of frozen peas placed against her face and my mother pointing and laughing.
The cake on the other hand received a far worse affair, it’s smooth iced layer was now replaced by a thick layer of colourful wax, which everyone decided it was most likely edible.