Last April, Prince William married Kate Middleton.
My friends and I couldn't get enough. Our generation had been raised on princess movies, dressing up as Cinderella, Belle, Jasmine, and Pocahontas in turns each Halloween, watching and re-watching the movies until we knew every word, and now, here in front of us we saw those girlhood fantasies become reality as Kate married her Prince Charming. We watched the specials, the documentaries, the bad made-for-TV movies. We waited for weeks, following as each detail was covered in the news and wondering, wondering what our new princess would wear.
And finally it came.
At 3 o'clock in the morning, I wore a white dress under my dad's old fleece pullover, wore one of the many plastic and rhinestone tiaras friends have given me over the years, and drove down the road to my friend Laura's house. She let me in, and we prepared mimosas before settling down on the couch to watch each glamorous guest arrive. The dresses! The hats! Then came the royal family, car by car. William, looking more the fairytale prince than ever. Harry, sharing a laugh with his brother. And then, Kate. Us watching, ever the clichéd group of girls, gasped audibly at the first glimpse of her lace, Sarah Burton-designed dress.
The ceremony began. We clinked champagne flutes and cut the cake, imaginary guests at the event of the year. Did I mention, I had brought along cupcakes? I had to do something to keep awake between midnight and 3 a.m.
I baked my wedding cake recipe, a modified white cake with a finer, softer crumb, plenty of vanilla, and a hint of almond flavor. I cut some of the cupcakes to form tiers, iced the miniature wedding cakes, and decorated them with sugar pearls, royal icing, and fondant rose buds.
The ceremony finished around 6 in the morning. I drove home and took of my tiara and my white dress, and went to class.