Monday, January 26, 2009

The Icing on the Cake

This time last year, we were planning a wedding. OUR wedding. It started out small and simple and grew into this humongous intimate party for 200. The details we never really cared about became insurmountable. Invitations were chosen (by the Mountain Man- he has a flare for details!) , bands were booked, the venue chosen. The cake was picked out, and we were faced with the search for the cake topper.

Mountain man has in his possession an actual Lladro figurine of a wedding couple. It is a statute of a dour looking man dressed quite English proper, holding an even staunchier,sour pussed bride in a pose a la carry me over the threshold.
From The icing on the Cake

From the looks of this most unhappy soon to be betrothed couple, the only place I wanted them carried to was the trash.

I searched wedding shops, Macy's bridal registry, Fortunoff's, and any other wedding related venue I could think of. And I did not turn up one single alternative to Mr. and Mrs. Grim. In true earnest fashion, I gave up my search and turned my thoughts to greener pastures: The honeymoon. I hightailed it to the travel agent and picked up stacks of travelogues toting all of the most romantic venues to commence the honeymooning.

About half way through my fifth (or eighth?) travel catalogue, I stumbled upon an ad for the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas. (No, we were NOT heading to the Elvis Chapel for or after the wedding!) in the ad, however, was a picture of a cake topper. It had a dapper young man embracing a very sexy bride whose legs are wrapped around his waist as she runs her fingers through his hair while passionately thrusting her tongue down his throat. Okay. You can't actually see that detail, but trust me. It's there. Or at least it should be!

I set out to locate this cake topper of all cake toppers. I checked every online carrier of wedding wares. I searched craigslist and e-bay , the latter from which I learned another young bride to be was searching for the same topper. Only my search was taking place in the winter of 2007. Her plea was to locate that same item by June of 2005. It appeared she failed. Whether they went with the grumpy Lladro couple, or called off the entire wedding in frustration, I couldn't tell you. Nor did I care. I was on a mission.

I called the advertising department of the magazine I first spied my happily married couple in, and was assured the cake topper was crafted solely for the print ad, and that they had no further details, other than it was used in just that one shoot.

I went back to the ad itself and called the Paris Hotel In Las Vegas ( After explaining my plight to everyone from housekeeping (honest, that's where they transferred me first!) to corporate headquarters, I was finally hooked up with their public relations peeps. Luck be a lady, the woman I spoke with actually remembered the ad which had been shot five years earlier. And yes, it was a one photo shoot ad, and no, she did not know where that piece may have ended up. She did promise to do some research and get back to me.

A week later, and about ready to cave in to the "We must HAVE to get married, because we sure don't look happy about it" couple, I received a call from my angel at the Paris hotel. It turns out that that one ad had generated A LOT of publicity and inquiries about the mysterious cake people. So much so, that the year prior to my call, production had been ordered to recreate that cake topper. And production HAD, well, produced!

For a small fee (okay, not so small- this IS Vegas, after all) the cake topper to end all toppers was ordered and finally delivered! Wrapped and under our first joint-Christmas tree (No, it was NOT a marijuana plant! It was our first tree TOGETHER-honestly, constant reader, what were you thinking?). Anyway, come Christmas morning, my groom to be was more than ready to retire the Lladros back to their box in the back of the closet.

And come the wedding? That cake topper was a HUGE hit! The guests loved it, the DJ and pianist loved it, even the caterer commented on it. Oh, and best of all? My eleven year old said it was gross! Yup. Nothing says perfect than the eyes of a pre-teen rolling back into his head! It sure was the perfect topper to a perfect day!
From The icing on the Cake

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