My friend Fred has the funniest ritual. When asked to bring dessert to a dinner party (or any party), he heads to Carvel to pick up an ice cream cake. That on its own is revelatory for me because, well, show me someone who doesn't appreciate a chocolate-vanilla-crunchies-in-the-middle Carvel cake and I will show you an unhappy person. But the best part about his ritual is what he gets piped across the top. Instead of requesting "Happy Birthday" or "Congratulations," or "Thank you," Fred ups the ante with messages like the one above, "Thanks for the Spaghetti," so prosaic that it's funny. Or "To the Best Freakin Deacon," when his niece became a Deacon at her church, not something people probably celebrate everyday. On his nephew's 21st birthday cake, he asked a blanching Carvel employee to write a decidedly non-G-rated version of "Time to Mess Things Up."
Tell Us a Story
Tell Us a Story
Tell Us a Story
My friend Fred has the funniest ritual. When asked to bring dessert to a dinner party (or any party), he heads to Carvel to pick up an ice cream cake. That on its own is revelatory for me because, well, show me someone who doesn't appreciate a chocolate-vanilla-crunchies-in-the-middle Carvel cake and I will show you an unhappy person. But the best part about his ritual is what he gets piped across the top. Instead of requesting "Happy Birthday" or "Congratulations," or "Thank you," Fred ups the ante with messages like the one above, "Thanks for the Spaghetti," so prosaic that it's funny. Or "To the Best Freakin Deacon," when his niece became a Deacon at her church, not something people probably celebrate everyday. On his nephew's 21st birthday cake, he asked a blanching Carvel employee to write a decidedly non-G-rated version of "Time to Mess Things Up."