10/06/2025
When I told my MIL I was baking my own wedding cake, she laughed and said, "You're baking your own cake? What is this, a picnic?" Then added, "Well, I suppose when you grow up poor, it's hard to let go of that mindset." She's never worked a day in her life – weekly salon visits, designer everything, and calls Target "that warehouse." Her husband funds her every whim, but unlike her, my fiancé never wanted a cent from him. So after he lost his job three months before the wedding, we made a promise: no debt, no handouts. We'd cut back and make it work. And I decided to bake the cake myself. Three tiers. Vanilla bean, raspberry filling, buttercream, piped florals. It turned out perfect. Guests raved. The venue said it looked like it came from a boutique bakery. Then came the speeches. My MIL took the mic, sparkling in her second outfit of the night, and said, "Of course, I had to step in and make the cake. I couldn't let my son have something tacky on his big day!" She laughed. The room clapped. I froze, fork mid-air. She took credit for my cake. I stood up to say something – but karma was already doing the talking. Three guests walked straight up to her. ⬇️
