Dear Father Mayo & Collective of Forgiveness,

In 1999 I was twenty six years old and had a great job as a wedding cake
designer. I originally lived in the West Country and later moved to the South East Coast of England just after my sister announced her engagement.

As you might expect I was soon asked to design and make the cake for my sister's big day, I happily agreed and quickly proceeded to start the design for the most beautiful and breathtaking wedding cake of my career. Nearly a year later… after detailed planning, cake-taste-testing and many rejected designs, I was finally ready to start.

I should at this point also mention that I have a son, Colin, who at the time was just turning 7 years old, like any child of that age he liked to play games while I toiled in the kitchen or around the house. Despite the many action figures, bicycles and other assorted toys he possessed he had recently become addicted to Play-dough, and would happily sit on the floor making new shapes and structures while I worked.

Wedding "Eve" arrived and I was very busy making my cake, franticly tweaking the design, altering ingredients and wondering if I would ever finish in time! As I whisked, baked and iced Colin, walked into the kitchen with his play dough box.

He happily played for ten minutes until he eventually lost interest and walked off leaving his work (apparently models of my kitchen tools, so he informed me) strewn across the kitchen floor. I immediately called him back to clean it up and which he did. Just at that point the phone rang and I rushed to answer it, firmly instructing Colin to leave the cake alone because Mummy was about to put it in the oven.

When I returned to the Kitchen, Colin had obediently tidied up the debris of the coloured dough kitchen utensils as instructed… but to my horror was now attempting to push the tin containing the base of the cake into the oven. He struggled with the weight not helped by my oversized oven gloves which he had put on for the occasion and I immediately rushed to help him.

"Don't EVER do that unless Mummy says so." I scolded, retrieving the tin and quickly closing the oven door. "Now be a good boy and go and play in the lounge until tea time." He walked off in a bit of a sulk while I finished off the cake, finally placing it safely into the oven about half an hour later.

The big day came and Colin & I arrived at the wedding dressed in our finery, I of course was still rushing around making sure the cake was perfect! (Making last minute adjustments to the position of the model bride and groom and the ribbons etc. you know the sort of thing)

As the night went on, my sister and many of the other guests congratulated and thanked me for producing such a spectacular cake. I smiled and felt very proud. The speeches came and went and finally the plates and forks were handed round and amidst the flash of many cameras the bride and groom cut into the cake.

I told Colin to wait at the table as the cake came round, as we would be served last (giving me plenty of time to watch everyone's delight as they tucked into my hard work.). Colin looked most put out by this and started to protest, I silenced him straight away and issued the standard motherly rebuke.

He persisted though, tugging my sleeve and looking rather cross, finally I relented and asked what was wrong, he lent over and whispered in my ear as I listened absentmindedly. "Mummy." he said. "It's not fair, you know the play dough I made you yesterday and you told me to clean up. Well I swept it up with a dustpan and brush and tipped it into the cake, just in case you needed it today. And now everyone is eating my knives and forks."

Having dropped this bombshell he jumped of his seat and ran off to the dance floor. I Froze!!!!! 64 people were eating a cake containing play dough cutlery! I looked around in horror and jumped as a guest tapped me on the shoulder.

"Great cake." Said the Father of the Groom. "I love the crunchy coloured bits. What are they?" "Erm... Secret ingredient!" I stuttered.

As the cake got to me I decided not to take any. I also pondered on telling my sister but decided her special day probably wasn't the right time, strangely that right time has, until now that is, never actual arisen.

So, oh forgiving few! Can you forgive me for trusting my 7 year old with
a cake and for letting 64 people eat cooked play dough kitchen utensils?

I hope you can!

Mary