“Diamonds are a girl’s best…wait, is that cake?”

I’m listening to Michelle Obama’s audiobook, and she’s describing how Barack proposed to her in a restaurant. The server brought the dessert plate and lifted the fancy lid, and there was “a dark velvet box where the chocolate cake was supposed to be.”

And, OK, fine — yay, congrats, mazel, etc.

But also, um… You’re still gonna bring my cake, right? It’s just backstage somewhere?

I feel like she really glossed over the important part.

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