Fun with weddings
What a difference a week makes. Last weekend, I was in Vegas, enjoying all manner of spanking debauchery. And then this weekend, I was at a vanilla wedding. OK, I dressed up for both (but, as John put it, not quite as slutty for the second one), and got to dance at both. The resemblance ends there. I’m glad the latter is over. The former, I could revisit again and again.
It was a nice wedding, I have to admit, in a lovely place with a gorgeous reception area and then a beautiful courtyard set up for the dinner and dancing. But I’m just not into weddings. Across the aisle, I could see John’s brother’s wife crying. Me? I wanted to roll my eyes when they had Scripture readings. (And it didn’t help when John kept leaning over and whispering “WTF??” in my ear.) But I damn near lost it when John’s niece, speaking her written vows, blurted, “You totally complete me!” No. She did NOT just say that. Who says that, except Tom Cruise movie characters?? Still, I maintained control, just briefly dropping my eyes and biting my lip. I admit, though, she did look really cute when she did an exuberant fist-pump, flowers in hand, when they were pronounced husband and wife.
There was an open bar (of course) and servers walking around with trays of five different hors d’oeuvres, after the ceremony. Three of them were fried and the other two were loaded with cheese, so I passed. Weddings are fun places to people-watch, so I did so while John chatted with his relatives. Wandering outside, I saw the tables where we were to eat. Each plate had a placecard, and I found mine… all the way at the opposite end of the table from where John was seated. Excuse me? Not acceptable. I called John outside, and we snuck around the table, switching placecards. While we were at it, we discovered that his cousin and wife were separated too, so we put them back together as well. What were the arrangers thinking??
There were about a dozen different speeches before the dinner. John kept me entertained during those, whispering running commentary in my ear. He could afford to be critical. The other night at the rehearsal dinner, John had given a speech, reciting some lovely words about strength of union and love conquering all — in Latin! And he had memorized it! After that, the bride’s uncle on her father’s side got up and read a poem — the first verse was something along the lines of “Greens are yeses, reds are maybes; let’s get together, and make some babies.” From the sublime to the ridiculous.
Dinner was tasty; they had a choice of prime rib, stuffed chicken breast or spinach ravioli. Lots of wine and champagne. And, oddly enough, there was a tiny cake for the bride and groom to cut, but the rest of us got assorted mini-tarts and pastries for dessert. When the dancing started, the mass quantities of consumed alcohol began kicking in and the evening turned a bit raucous. It was outdoors on a very warm summer night, and John finally shed his suit jacket; the poor man was sweating like crazy.
I found an unexpected ally in his sister-in-law C. I’ve known her for as long as I’ve known John, but she and I never really talked; she’s in her early 40s. We ended up chatting a bit, and I sensed something, a sort of kinship, like somehow there was a lot she wasn’t saying, but that she was thinking. So I took a chance, moved closer at one point and whispered, “I don’t know how you do it. I mean, you actually married into this dysfunctional family.” That was risky… but she responded. She opened up. And at the end of the evening, before she and her husband left, she said, “You know, we should all hang out sometime. You guys [John and me] are the only ones who are normal.” HAH! If only she knew.
Gotta say, it was so gratifying and validating, when I told her about some stupid lecherous comment that John’s inappropriate brother-in-law had said to me. Her jaw dropped and she screeched, “What a DICK!”
We left shortly thereafter, because things were getting louder and louder and it was clear it was going to morph into a drunken bacchanal in short order. I think seeing one somewhat under-dressed young woman jump onto another woman’s back, piggyback style, was a bit of a hint. So we pushed our way through the sweaty throng on the dance floor, saying goodbye to the bride, the groom, John’s sister. Tangled up in the bodies, I distinctly smelled pot. Yup, it was time to go.
I wish them well. I hope they will be OK, will have a nice life. I know John has a special affection for his niece, since he’s her godfather as well. I know he wishes things with his family were different. Sometimes, my heart hurts for him. Yeah, all families are screwed up in their way and his isn’t all bad. But the difference between John and me? I accepted long ago that my family was pretty much the pits and that I preferred to maintain a certain detachment from them. John, however, has never stopped yearning for the closeness, the validation, the blood-is-thicker-than-water thing. I know he hoped that growing older would bring them all closer. I watched him last night, chatting enthusiastically with a cousin he rarely sees (in fact, the last time he saw him was the last family wedding, over 10 years ago). He misses that; I know he does. Me? I’ll take my spanking family. They get me. Not my blood relatives.
OK! Got through it. And now tomorrow is my reward; Mr. D returns. 🙂
Hope everyone had a nice weekend.