The Unicorn Incident

‘With sparkles!’ My five-year-old little girl screamed from before flouncing off into her bedroom to join her Barbies in yet another EastEnders-style life story. As I sat there at the kitchen table, pages spewed out across it, all covered with scribbled down telephone numbers, slightly legible shopping lists and the occasional doodle, I started to question my sanity for the thousandth time regarding why I had chosen to plan a unicorn themed birthday party for my five year old. ‘Because she’s your daughter and you love her.’ I mumbled to myself as I had done through many an awkward phone call of trying to ascertain whether the balloon artists could make unicorns out of balloons.

‘So you want a horn?’ ‘Like a french horn?’ ‘Umm… Yes, I’m sure one of our artists could try and make that for your party.’ ‘No! I mean a horn on the horse! You know, the magical horse things that are literally everywhere in the flippin’ shops at the minute! I mean for goodness’ sake they’re even on bog roll! I never thought I would see the day when my five-year-old threw a tantrum because I wouldn’t buy her bog roll. I mean COME ON! Give us parents a chance would you shops!? ‘Ah, so you want a horse, well we can most certainly make a horse. In fact, our artists are very good at making stick horses. Would that be of interest?’ ‘No! For pete’s sake I need a UNICORN!’

I shook myself out of the harrowing memories of yesterday to focus on today’s mission: ordering a unicorn cake, with the sides going from a dark pink to a lighter pink (because ‘That’s what Olivia had at her birthday last Saturday!’ and we must all follow in Queen Olivia’s example), slime on the top (because, why not), candy floss in cloud shapes around the edge and finally, “Princess Ellie” written in big pink lettering across the top. Oh, and of course, WITH SPARKLES!

Ring, Ring-Ring

‘Good afternoon. Bake it and They will Come, Joanne speaking. How may I help you today?’

‘Hello, I’m calling to order a cake for my daughter for her sixth birthday.’

‘No problem. What size of a cake were you thinking about?’

‘Well, it needs to be enough to feed 25 kids.’ HELP

‘Ok, and what design were you thinking of?’

‘Ok, so, it needs to be round, with the sides going from dark pink to light, but the darker on the bottom or else it won’t be like Olivia’s and slime on the top and –

‘Sorry, did you say slime?’

‘Yes slime. And candy floss around the edges to look like clouds because that’s where the unicorns live apparently, glitter on the “clouds” because the unicorns only live on “magic clouds” and lots of SPARKLES. And ‘Princess Ellie’ across the middle.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes I think it is.’ I said with a definite air of pride for having remembered it all.

‘So it’s a unicorn cake with pink ombre sides, err slime on top, clouds –

‘Glittery clouds!’

‘Yes, glittery clouds… for the unicorns… and ‘Princess Ellie’ in the middle. Is that all correct?’

‘It sure is.’ I said triumphantly, whilst punching the air.

‘Ow.’ I forgot I was 42 and that punching the air didn’t always go well at this age.

‘Pardon, what was that?’ the cake lady said.

‘Sorry, nothing.’ I awkwardly mumbled back.

‘Ok… and when is the party?’

‘Saturday at 1pm.’ I replied with all the fear of someone with an imminent party of 25 kids coming their way.

‘Perfect. We’ll have your cake ready to pick up at 10 that morning. ‘

‘Great thanks. Ok, thanks for your help. I really have to go now so love you, bye.’

I face-palmed. Did I just tell the bake shop lady I loved her?

‘Nooo!’ I audibly groaned. I was going to have to see this woman tomorrow having told her that I loved her. Great.

In the hopes of distracting myself from the embarrassing end to the bake shop phone call, I decided to move on to the next challenge; making the house look like we didn’t live there.

So thus began 4 hours of cleaning the kitchen counters, clearing out the cupboards (because what if a child were to look in one thinking it was something else, see the horrific mess that is my life and go home and tell their “insta-perfect” mothers how horrendous my house looks and then all would be over), mopping the floors, cleaning out the fridge, shoving the everyday crap in the closet and bringing out the fancy crap, scattering the fancy crap about the downstairs, cleaning the loo, cleaning the sink in the loo, picking up stray dog hairs from the carpet, attacking the carpet with a vacuum to yet again remove stray dog hairs from the carpet, screaming at the carpet for having dog hairs, shouting at the dog for having fur and finally, taking the Hello magazines off the coffee table, hiding them in my bedroom, and replacing them with, ‘The Big Book of Fine Art’ (a gift from a friend, of which we have only ever used as everything you can think of, bar reading).

I woke up Saturday morning, refreshed and ready to face the day… Ok, no I didn’t. I woke up begrudgingly, to the irritating sound of the alarm and to Ellie’s deafening singing from her bedroom of her latest hit single, ‘It’s my party! It’s party day! Unicorns!’ which she chose to sing on repeat for most of the morning. Yey.

After getting Ellie and me breakfast, I decided that it was time to face the music. Bake it and They will Come, bakery.

I’d got parked right outside the bakery. It was decorated with lovely coloured flowers across the nameboard and an old fashioned red and white awning shaded the outside customers from the elements; today being quite mild but sticky. It was all in all, a quaint little bakery, having opened over a hundred years ago but the historical beginnings and aesthetics of the bakery were of little interest to me on that day. Sweat beaded on my forehead; from a combination of the torturous humidity and my very real fear of coming face to face with Joanne. GULP

I carefully opened the car door, ambled out and got ready to face the music.

Walking in, the bakery was awash with noises and smells: employees shouting orders at each other, customers catching up with friends whilst standing in line for some baked goods, and all in all, it was a very hectic place.

I excused myself past seemingly hundreds of people and slid precariously along the back wall in an effort to get to the collection station; at the opposite side of the shop from the ordering area.

When I got there, I rang the bell for assistance. My palms were literally dripping with sweat I was so nervous. It literally felt like a first date. But with someone I very much did not want to date. As the lady came from around the door leading to the back of the bakery, I could feel my heart pounding. Here we go.  Hello and welcome to Bake it and They will Come, my name is Margaret. What can I help you with today?’ My knees immediately went weak with relief. I grappled with the counter, trying to keep myself upright. I quickly said what I was there for, waited whilst Margaret (whom I had so far managed to avoid declaring my love for) went to get my order. When she arrived back with my order, I didn’t even bother to check it as I was so desperate to get out of Joanne’s territory. Margaret had called it ‘The Unicorn Cake’ as she had handed it to me and that was reassurance enough for me that it was my cake. I paid for it and legged it out of there.

A few hours later the kids started to arrive, with their parents all to quick to drive off the second I opened the front door. They should really start calling kids’ parties ‘day of free childcare’.

I rallied all the kids in the living room and of course, the balloon artists hadn’t arrived at 1:30 as they had said they would so I “entertained” 25 kids with a few games of duck, duck, goose and stuck in the mud; difficult games to place in your average-sized living room but we managed. Finally, at 2pm the balloon artists arrived, and I quickly took refuge in the kitchen.

All in all, they were distracted – I mean entertained – by the balloon artists for an hour or so and were then sent outside to play whatever they wanted until cake was ready.

The cake was surprisingly successful; if I do say so myself, and after multiple rounds of the Happy Birthday song (because singing it once isn’t “cool” anymore) everyone seemed thrilled by the cake. I say that from the lack of leftovers and the ample crumbs and glitter and sparkles and slime (which they had made from icing) that were decorating the floor, chairs and table. At least dogs were handy for something.

At 5pm, parents started to show their faces and one even asked about my fine art book. It turned out they were actually into it. I quickly said that I had just started having an interest in it; hence, my lack of knowledge. Go me.

Once Fluffy the dog and I had made a start on the kitchen, Ellie came bounding through. She ran up to me and caught me in a bear hug.

‘Thanks Mummy! This is the best birthday ever! I can’t wait until next year! I already know what I want.’

‘Oh, and what’s that.’

‘A fairy party!’

‘Fairies? And why not.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait!’ Ellie squealed whilst running back into the living room to play with her hundreds of new unicorns.

‘You know what?’ I thought to myself as I wiped my sweaty hand across my sweaty forehead, glancing over at Fluffy living his best life licking up all the cake’s remains, ‘Bring it on.’