Any Given Wedding

So I've got dinner halfway to ready and Secret Lulu parked in front of the Dora Halloween episode. If I'm lucky she'll learn about Trick or Treating and costumes well enough that I'll be able to get her into one for the big day. Last year, she fell asleep. At 5:30 at night. Practically nosed dived into her mashed potatoes.

The costumes I couldn't decide between--pirate and fairy princess--are still hanging in the closet. With the tags on.

Whatever.

Anyway, Secret Lulu is downstairs doing some exploratory research on what could be a lot of fun or a headache--too soon to tell--and I'm up here trying to get a post up about something, anything, because it's been awhile. I'm starting to question my commitment.

Of course summer is always hard. People don't want to blog when they can, well, have a life. Let's face it, blogging is mostly a winter sport. On a night like tonight when it's, oh say, seventy-five degrees and the sun's still shining like it means it, well, I'm usually more likely to go out for a walk. I don't know what you're doing, but from what I can tell, most of you aren't dinking around with your own posts, and certainly, you aren't posting many comments here.

There's no judgment there. I mean, like I have room to talk, it's not like I'm giving you much to comment on. Take now, for instance. I'm not sure you're going to be able to do much with this post. Doesn't matter. I just need to get something up for October.

Oh. And post about my trip home to Rhode Island.

You know, when I first started this blog, I gave the url to everyone in my family, all of my friends, a few of their pet turtles--whoever I thought might read it religiously if they thought I was keeping it secret from them. I figured they'd read a handful of posts and fall off the map. Then I could hide out in the open. Kind of like that episode of Magnum, P.I. where Higgins gives Magnum these really important audio cassette tapes to keep safe and these thugs break into Magnum's, well, not apartment, but the little guest house he stays in, and they ransack the place and come up empty because the tapes are sitting right out on the coffee table in plain view, so they can't be important.

Yeah. Kind of like that.

I can tell you for mostly sure that no one in my family is reading. Even though I gave them the url. Or because I gave them the url. So here's to hiding out in plain sight.

I went to Rhode Island for one of my favorite cousin's wedding. I wanted to type weddings for some reason--I think it sounds better--but this cousin is only having the one wedding. So far.

See what I mean about out in plain sight? I can be inappropriate like that.

So this younger cousin, who I really adore and who seems sparklingly happy (but not in a girly way) is getting married to this great girl (woman really, but in a girly way) and they are letting me bring Bookgirl to the wedding, as my date (again, in a girly way) and Secret Lulu is staying home with Mr. Poppins. I am planning on having a fabulous time.

You know the drill, we're barely seated for the ceremony before we're dishing on the other guests--mostly people we don't know because we're equal opportunity like that--the ceremony starts, we tear up a little, giggle when the moms hold up the unity candle ceremony  because they can't get the separate candles lit and (I'll tell you now, once you start on the unity candle, no matter how badly it's going, deciding to just skip it is not an option), tear up some more, cheer on the kiss. Then we find the bar. Because, hey, this is a story about me and Bookgirl and there is a bar available, so that was bound to happen.

Everywhere I look is family and everyone is happy to see me. But I'm even more happy to see them.

We find our table, sit next to some strangers, sip our drinks, listen to some toasts, make inappropriate comments about how disturbingly hot many of my younger cousins are, and then, when the music starts, turn into the "dancing aunties." Now you might not know about the "dancing aunties" but if you have a big family you'll recognize them once I explain.

For a long time, I was the kid at the wedding. First I was a little girl in a dress that made me feel like a princess, then I was an embarassingly cool teenager (I say embarassingly because mostly, I was too cool to feel much but awkward and embarassed). But I remember, even as a kid, as soon as the music started, all of my aunts, the ones who were young enough to have the daughters in the princess dresses, would get up and dance and no matter where the DJ went with the music, they just didn't sit down.

Now I'm that auntie. You know the one belting along with Meatloaf's Paradise by the Dashboard Light with the hand gestures and the shoulder pumping. Because, seriously, the only reason I am not Pat Benatar is because I was born too late.

Tragic. But true.

So Bookgirl and I dance and dance and dance. There's no chicken dance, the bride probably prohibited it out of some overdeveloped sense of good taste, but if it had happened, I would have been shaking my tail feathers with the five-year-olds. And I would have been proud.

I don't get out much.

But the wedding wasn't the whole thing. We had after-wedding plans. Plans that involved hooking up with Diosa for dinner, wine, more wine, and then a walk (through the rain--that part wasn't planned) to visit Diosa's parents' bar.

Diosa's parents' totally own a bar. They just bought it. So it's not like we were ever banned from there, or allowed to drink underage there, or have any kind of humiliating memories to haunt us there. Thank Hank. What we do have is Diosa's dad saying the four most beautiful words a man can say to a trio of Woonsocket girls:

These girls drink free.

I can't really explain to you exactly how many ways these words resonate with my soul. But I'll try. First, is these girls, which is us, lifelong friends who are all together in the hometown, reunited and it feels so good kind of stuff. Then there's drink. I'm not going to explain that one because no matter how I think to type it up, I just sound like an alcoholic and I haven't gotten to step one yet (you know, where you admit you have a problem). Last is free. Like I said, we're from Woonsocket. It doesn't matter that we can afford to pay for our drinks.

We like our bargains. But we love our free. The only thing that could have possibly made it better is if we had a coupon, you know, for the popcorn or something. That was free, too, but (and Bookgirl knows what I'm talking about) coupons make it taste better.

We didn't get rowdy. We just talked. And sipped. And talked some more. Face to face. All at once. Taking turns. There was a game of air hockey with some guy who just couldn't stop hitting on us. Diosa played that, and as Bookgirl said, that guy who insisted on the game didn't so much win as he let Diosa lose.

I'm not judging. I've totally scored goals on myself. A lot of times. To a level that could be confused with talent.

I couldn't stay out too late. I had a plane to catch in the morning.

But I was there.

Comments

[Diosa]

Good to see you too Polly, even if I did have to bring you home early. And I totally warned that guy I suck at air hockey. I have a scar from wiffle ball. I bring sucking to a whole new level in the sports arena, even if air hockey isn't technically a sport.

[Polly Poppins]

Diosa, that wiffle ball thing was probably painful so I shouldn't be snorting my morning coffee out of my nose. But, seriously, I'm snorting coffee out of my nose.

A wiffle ball scar.

Heh.