Over the last month or so, my father turned 88, a good friend died far too young, and my stepsister treated family and friends to a wedding spectacle that nobody will soon forget no matter how much they’d like to.
The birthday ranks as the least exceptional of the three events (other than the achievement of another year added to so many) so will remain undescribed. Nor will I discuss the circumstances of my friend who died, except to say he was a remarkable individual, and that his death was a profound blow for those who knew and loved him.
As for the wedding, however, I see no reason to hold back.
After all, the bride showed no restraint whatsoever in arranging it—indeed, I
hear she was repeatedly begged to curb some of her wilder impulses—but it still
added up to what was certainly the tackiest, most painful event I’ve witnessed
to date. The back-story here is that
this marked wedding #3 for my stepsister, yet she demanded all the trappings (and
financial support required) one could expect for a first wedding.
| It wasn't quite this bad... |
A few glasses of champagne might be appropriate after a big
event like this, but apparently the bride felt it would be a good idea to have
them before the ceremony….and so she did, while everyone waited. Then she
sashayed down the aisle, grinning at those gathered in the little church, as
her teenage nephew doodled around on an out-of-tune piano, playing part of the
wedding march interspersed with whatever else he could think of at the time,
before stumbling to a halt.
Why am I reliving this—is it some kind of exorcism? Enough
blow by blow. Here are the highlights:
When asked if she would “take this man as her husband,” the
bride gave us a fatuous grin and answered heartily, “Heck yeah!”
After they were pronounced married and given permission to
kiss, they stood on the altar swallowing each other like two goldfish; at one
point, she grabbed his ass.
The cake topper, at her insistence, showed a bride and groom—but
it depicted the bride having leapt headlong into the arms of the groom with her
legs wrapped around him.
At the reception, we were treated to a few more deep kisses,
and then the inevitable garter ceremony, which the bride decided would be more
interesting if the groom wasn’t allowed to use his hands. So he doggedly (as in
St. Bernard style) wriggled his way up her dress, finally emerging with what
looked like a pair of chewed up, variegated underwear—but which was in fact her
garter.
I should mention that the wedding ceremony itself took place
during a total eclipse of the sun, which my astrologer partner was quick to
point is the most inauspicious time to start any kind of new undertaking. And
while my first thought was they’d picked the day and time deliberately because
they thought it was “special” it turned out they had no idea, and the stars
just naturally fell into place…
As a rule, I don’t mind seeing Jeannie uncomfortable, but
even I felt sorry for her that day as she tried to remain nonchalant and upbeat
through the entire farce. My one hope (sadly
unrealized) was for one of the religious zealots there to insult me and my
partner in some way so I would be able to ask them, with feigned enthusiasm, to
tell me all about the sanctity of marriage, after witnessing what we all
had. But the guests all behaved
themselves…if only the guests.
