Making a Boob Cake

My dearest cousin is getting a breast reduction in a few days. She's been waiting years and the day has finally come. She asked me if I could make a boobie cake as she was having a party on Saturday (to which I couldn't attend because I had to work) to say good-bye to her most cumbersome breasts. I am not the best, construction-wise, at making cakes; everything I've done to this point has been pretty basic but I was up to the task of creating my first 3-D cake.


First thing I did was Google "boob cakes" (I Google everything. I can see why it is now considered an actual verb). Some naughty ones popped up, some classy ones, some cute ones. Even one of a naked woman pushing out a baby. I had a good chuckle over that one. Armed with ideas I consulted an old friend, Staci Lawton, on how to bake the "boobs". She had recently done a risque and amazing bachelor cake and is my go-to girl when I don't know how to do something. I bought a Wilton cake pan that is used to make doll cakes, and clown heads and other such things, but makes a perfect set of knockers.


The cake itself baked okay, no major catastrophes. It wasn't as chocolately as I would have liked, I'm still searching for that perfect chocolate cake recipe, but it suited its purpose. I filled the cake with vanilla pudding, whipped up some flesh coloured frosting and stacked those breast-eses on the cake.

You'll notice the left breast is a little lopsided. Just like real ones!


My cousin came to town shortly after I finished the basic construction and frosting of my masterpiece and after a fun evening of babysitting my 3 year old nephew Brady, we returned to my apartment to decorate the cake. I decided on a strapless white bra with pink polka dots because, after all, she would soon be able to wear all those cute little inexpensive bras (and I'll inherit her expensive, structural and functional bras, but that's another story).

As I was decorating, we were also making our way through a litre bottle of wine and my cousin was cleaning her dog-bitten finger. We broke out into song:

The Making a Boob Cake Song

Sung to the tune of "Kill the Wabbit" as sung by Elmer Fudd to the tune of Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries"


Making a boob cake, making a boooob cake, making a boob cake, making a boooob....
Cake.
Making a boob cake, making a boooob cake, cleaning a dog bite, drinking some wiiiine.


You probably had to be there.


The cake was a success, I didn't screw anything up and it made it all the way to the party in Windsor and was enjoyed by all.


I woke up with the worst wine headache of all time. My cousin and I pondered why, at the ages of 28 and 29, we have not learned to alternate water between drinks and pop a Tylenol before going to sleep (who am I kidding? Before passing out cold.)? I guess we'll never learn.