[caption id="attachment_9705" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="I found the baby! (Kind of.)"]<a href="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/?attachment_id=9705" rel="attachment wp-att-9705"><img class="size-medium wp-image-9705 " title="IMG00012-20120221-1248" src="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/IMG00012-20120221-12481-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="225" /></a>[/caption]

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Yesterday was Mardi Gras, and the President of Noble Publishing Superpower surprised us with not one, not two, but THREE King's Cakes.

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Wasn't that awfully sweet of him?

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Three King's Cakes meant there were three babies to be found!

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For those of you who are completely baffled at this moment, you can learn all you'll ever need to know about Mardi Gras, King's Cakes, and baby hunts <a href="http://www.mardigrasday.com/history.php" target="_blank"><strong>here.</strong></a>

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For those of you who don't want to go <strong><a href="http://www.mardigrasday.com/history.php" target="_blank">there</a></strong>, here's the scoop:

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People in New Orleans are always looking for an excuse to party.  Starting 12 nights after Christmas ("Twelfth Night"), New Orleans peeps get looped on cocktails and overindulge in sugary cake until a date late in February (Mardis Gras Day aka Fat Tuesday).  Hidden in each King's Cake is a wee plastic babe.

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I had never eaten a King's Cake, nor had I ever embarked on a hunt for babies, so I was pretty psyched.

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As I entered the kitchen, I heard Little Michelle (the other Michelle who is littler than me) SCREECHING,  "I FOUND THE BABY!!!!  I FOUND THE BABY!!!!!"

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Everyone gasped excitedly and immediately congratulated her.

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We then asked her what the heck "finding the baby" means.

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Little Michelle shrugged and answered, "I don't know for sure.  I think it means good luck.  I could use some good luck right now.  I FOUND THE BABY!!!!!"

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I thought that I could use some good luck as well.  I dove into that King's Cake faster than you can say, "Happy Mardi Gras, Suckers!"

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And there he was.  A tiny plastic baby unearthed and just resting on the table.  I didn't even have to unhygienically pick apart the cake!  I grabbed that baby, raised him high above my head and shouted, "I FOUND THE BABY, TOO!!!!  I FOUND THE BABY, TOO!!!!"

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Now, I realize that some might consider this cheating, but cheating is such a harsh word.  Finding a baby is finding a baby.  I like to think outside the box.  (Or outside of the cake in this instance.)

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My friends immediately humored me because after the events of the past couple weeks, they only want good luck for me as well.

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We scurried off to our cubes to await our impending sugar crashes.

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Little Michelle, still unsure of the exact meaning of the baby find, Googled away.  Oopsie!  "Sometimes, discovering the baby signifies that you are Queen of the Mardi Gras Party."

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Woohooooo!!!!  I was QUEEN, too!!!

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But wait a minute.  Did this mean I was an illegitimate Queen?  Kind of like when Anne Boleyn stole the crown right off of poor Catherine of Aragon's head?!?!  That wouldn't be cool.

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Little Michelle continued reading her Google FAQs.  "Most often, whoever locates the baby must supply the King's Cake at the next party."

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Really????  That's no fun.  To heck with that!

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Besides . . . . Unlike Anne Boleyn, I have a conscience.

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<span style="color: #ff0000; font-size: medium;"><strong>Long Live the Queen!</strong></span>

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<a href="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/?attachment_id=9706" rel="attachment wp-att-9706"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-9706" title="IMG00014-20120221-1300" src="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/IMG00014-20120221-1300-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="225" /></a>

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