approximately 140 days until the wedding and some hidden time bomb of a countdown
timer in my brain must have just kicked on. I can imagine it like a big red alarm
clock – the old fashioned kind with two bells on top – nestled snugly in the soft
folds of my gray matter tick tock, tick tocking away. Last night I dreamed that
I woke up like any other day and the house was full of people. Big noisy men who
needed to shave in chef’s hats and just all kinds of people. What, I wondered
was going on?
"Mom!" the bride cried, "Where are the bouquets?"
do you mean? We haven’t ordered the flowers yet."
"But Mom, the wedding
It was one of those dreams like you have before an exam when
you realize you haven’t studied at all or have arrived naked as a, you know, naked
person. Horrible. I spent the rest of the night running around trying to improvise
wedding bouquets out of Saran Wrap and trying to find something in my closet that
wasn’t sweat pants and dodging the increasingly angry chefs. What a night!
supposed I dreamed that little dream because Eldest Daughter (aka Blushing Bride
With Very Definite Ideas) and I had spent a couple of hours on the computer researching
wedding favors. First things first, I’d like to get something straight. For my
own information. We’re throwing a big party with a cast of gorgeously costumed
characters, lots of wonderful food, music – And I would like to pause for a moment
here and share some distressing news. Bride informs me that there will be no "Chicken
Polka." WHAT!?!?!? No "Chicken Polka"? I told her that marriages in Oklahoma were
not legal without at least three or four bouts of happy Chicken Polka-ing, but
she did not believe me. She is firm in her decision. NO POLKAS! I was shocked
at this newest bit of insanity. I guess I will just have to talk to Little Brother
(aka DJ Wants A Driver’s License). Maybe slip him a ten to make it a night to
remember. Because I have been looking at MOB gowns specifically with an eye to
designs roomy enough to polka enthusiastically in while maintaining both my modesty
and comfort. Like all MOBs.
But back to the favors. We’re throwing a wonderful
party – must we also give a gift? I voted for three Jordan almonds in some tulle.
She voted for organic artisan honey harvested by monks and shipped in by llamas
from North Dakota and packaged in cunning little boxes carved from diamonds and
rubies and emeralds, oh my! I may be exaggerating a teensy bit. At first I was
getting into the spirit of the whole thing. What about something from that quaint
little grist mill we visited in Arkansas? Oh look! They have cute little flowered
bags of stone ground organic pancake mix! Ka-Ching! And what about a little bottle
of blackberry syrup with the mix? Ka-Ching ka-ching. And a cute little graniteware
bowl all wrapped up in tulle? Chingchingchingching.
finally kicked in. Wait. No way. What about three Jordan almonds in some tulle?
Or a peanut M&M in a fresh Kleenex? Well, Bride said thoughtfully, what about
a little jar of some kind of spice. Maybe something exotic. From Tibet. Each individual
package flown in by carrier pigeon. Carrier pigeons wearing little gold and sapphire
collars. How does that sound? Or maybe wee little bottles of champagne made from
grapes raised by little orphans. In France. Little French orphans who gave the
love they would have given to their poor lost Mamas and Papas to the vines. And
who crushed each grape individually between their little thumbs and forefingers.
Washing carefully between each grape. How about that?
about a plain M&M in a Band-Aid? Or, she said, maybe a set of solid gold coasters
engraved with our names and wedding date? Or a pearl encrusted cheese knife? Or
a Barbie and Ken dressed in exact replicas of our wedding clothes? Or one perfect
rose. Each. For everybody. Or a little lamp with a genie in it that will grant
three wishes for each guest.
Or a Rice Krispie in an old gum wrapper.
We will solve this problem and come to a happy compromise. I am confident
of that. And we will do it with calm demeanors and a smile on our respective lips.
We have resolved, Bride and I, to get through this whole thing with nary a harsh
word. And we’ve been remarkably successful so far. But there are still 140 days,
and more to the point, 139 nights to live through. I have a suspicion that at
least some of those nights will be long ones.
Girl Detective's Theory of Everything"
August 3, 2009 Column
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