Sunday, February 18, 2018

The one with the King Cake and the plastic baby

The lights were dimmed, Hurricane Punch filled our glasses, and the eight of us were finishing up dinner with a round of homemade King Cake, the Mardis Gras staple.

This homemade, circular pastry was to die for. The flakiness of the dough, the perfection of the icing, the green, purple and yellow sprinkles emblazoned atop was the delicious grand finale of the night.

Our hostess, who made the cake, said there was, indeed, a plastic baby in the cake.

"Did you bake it in there?" I asked.

It was a stupid question. The peach little baby probably had toxic amounts of BPA in it and would've poisoned us all. The hostess said she ordered some off of Amazon.

They probably came from China, where it's not unusual for a toxicant to find themselves into deported goods.

Regardless of where the plastic baby comes from, when one finds it in the King Cake during Mardis Gras, that person will have luck and prosperity for the year -- and supposedly, they provide the King Cake at the next year's celebration.

I looked under my piece, and it was me!

I found the baby!

For the first time ever, I was finally going to have luck and prosperity bestowed upon me. And, yes, fine, I'll bake the King Cake for next year, too, if that's what you expect.

I'll just need my friend's recipe.

I placed the little babe off to the side, which I hadn't named yet, and finished off the cake. The eight of us sat around the table digesting and discussing, as our host began to pick up plates.

Lost in the ambiance of the party, I paid no mind to the missing Mardis Gras baby.

Out of sight, out of mind.

As the hostess remained with her guests, our host started cleaning up a few things.

That's when we heard the guttural sound of the garbage disposal eating something up that wasn't just food.

It sounded like a small plastic measuring spoon was caught in there.

The hostess and I looked at each other. "What was that?" I asked.

I looked down and realized something was missing.

"The baby!"

The host stopped cleaning up and stepped aside, while the hostess and I went out to kitchen to investigate. She started to stick her hand in the disposal, but I slapped it away. Mine barely fit through the hole, but once my fingers were down in there, my phalanges moved around and the rescue mission began.

My fingers skittered around, and as I felt for pieces of the baby, I pulled up what I could.

There wasn't much.

I found an arm, and what looked like, after Wifefriend investigated, part of the baby's face.

And that was it.

The rest of the Mardis Gras baby was gone. Chopped up. A Mardis Gras "Law and Order: SVU" episode.

We were in hysterics.

We asked what happens when you get the lucky baby all chopped up -- bad luck? Was I to have bad luck, now?


But it was an accident. It's not like I did it on purpose.

The real question is, since the baby was destroyed, am I still in charge of the King Cake for next year?