My bingo arms shook from overexertion. Yes, you heard that right – bingo arms. You know, the kind all of the old bats at bingo night have when they’re waving their dabbers around. That’s right. At thirty, I had a set of those bad boys.
“Steady, steady. Just a little bit closer,” I said. I’m sure I looked like a crazy person, talking to myself as I struggled to load the largest tier of a wedding cake into the back of my van. My assistant, Selene, had called out today, so I was on my own.