At the start, you jerked me around, avoided the kitchen because you couldn’t forget your first wife served up something bad. You had thrown it away.

You hadn’t learned to cook. I was no chef either. But we found a complex recipe and decided to bake it together.

Marriage Cake

NOTE: Read all instructions first.
Combine dry ingredients in large bowl to form a connection:
3 parts Shared Values
2 parts Mutual Interests
1 ½ parts Humor

Incorporate the wet ingredients slowly until the mixture is smooth:
1 part each-- Caring, Patience, Attraction, Self-Control, Kindness, Gentleness, Respect, Selflessness, Love, and Physical Intimacy

Pour into a baking pan and bake over a slow burning flame for an even texture, taking care not to burn the outside or to leave the center cool and undone.
Top off with sprinklings of Forgiveness as needed.

Recipe must be doubled, each member of a duo supplying half of each ingredient.

The recipe was simple, yet we screwed it up. At the start, we mismeasured the proportions and didn’t incorporate the dry ingredients first, causing lumps. You misread the recipe and threw in some Disrespect and Selfishness. Then you threw in ingredients the recipe didn’t even call for, things like Anger and Rudeness with a sprinkling of Short Temperament. I said, “Don’t throw those in. You’ll ruin it!” and you said, “It’ll be fine, it’s still got Caring and Love.” I tasted the bitter batter. Didn’t like it at all, but swallowed the disgusting combination, believing extra Forgiveness and Love could mask the taste. Then, I also, diverted from the original recipe and turned up the heat.

You tasted…didn’t like…decided to add more Mutual Interests, after the fact, to see how that would work even after the cake was baked with a raw center. I said, “No, I think we need more Humor,” and you said you couldn’t find any. We returned the cake to the oven on a slow burning flame until the center was done, but the texture was still off. The bitterness of Anger, Disrespect, and Selfishness still lingered, and even though it wasn’t as strong, it had a bad aftertaste. When I sprinkled Forgiveness, I also tasted Freedom. You tried to unbake the cake, pulling out remnants of Anger, taking back Harsh Words, using Peace to try and dissolve Selfishness, and in the process, spilled Neediness into the mix.

You said, “I’ll fix it. Frosting.” I said the recipe didn’t call for frosting. The cake should only need sprinklings of Forgiveness to top it off or else it was no good.

You combined a sweet mixture of New Patience and Self Control, coating the top, then handed me a bite, saying, “Some people eat it this way.”

The sugary mess overpowered the cake, all in a lump instead of even throughout, and the bottom, still bad. I made a face. You handed me some milk to wash it down, the way it’s supposed to be, but I knew when many people ate it this way, they washed it down with alcohol instead. You took a bite, smacking your tongue against the roof of your mouth like your salivary glands exploded. “I can eat it like this,” you said, pretending to like it.

I screwed up my face again, shaking my head. “It sucks. I’m trashing it.”

You can’t unbake a cake. You have to start new, fresh.
I hope you don’t forget this time either. I hope you learned to cook.