I love weddings. The rituals, the pageantry, the occasional drama. Mostly, I enjoy the people watching and the opportunity to silently pass judgement on anything and everything, from the food to the timing to the bar placement. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help myself. My mom owned a catering business when I was a kid and is still the queen of party planning. I come by my critical cattiness very naturally.
Anyhoo, my husband Doo and I recently attended a fantastic event where, honestly, I couldn’t find much to complain about. For starters, the ceremony was adorable. The two ring bearers were dressed as mini-security officers complete with briefcases and tactical earpieces. One of the flower girls decided she’d had enough and left mid-vows, just sauntered up the hill and disappeared around the house. And it was the perfect length of time, not too long, not too short. No full Catholic Mass here!
Cocktail hour was also great. Doo and I stuffed our faces with mini mozzarella balls and gorgonzola cheese and met a couple who’d known Doo when he was young. “You were that tiny boy with glasses!” And it didn’t hurt that both the weather and venue were gorgeous. Partly cloudy, temps in the mid-70s, and a classical revival mansion circa 1915? Yes, please!
The only real annoyance was one of our dinner companions, an older gentleman who, when he learned that I’m a U.S. history teacher, immediately asked if I taught that “woke stuff.” Oh, lord, here we go.
We have a couple more weddings lined up this spring, so stay tuned, friends. Hopefully, they’ll be spectacularly awful!
Peace out.
