A few weeks ago, my husband told me his young coworker was getting married and really wanted him to come to the wedding. He did not want to buy a suit, but the young coworker assured him it was not a dressy wedding, so he relented. I also do not have many dress clothes because, well, I don’t need them, but luckily, I recently bought a little black dress quite cheap, and it looked decent on me. So, I agreed to go as well.
The wedding was last night. I gave a true effort to spruce up for the event. I rolled the thickest part my hair with hot rollers the right way by portioning it out and mixing the large and small rollers in a way to get the most wave. I took the top, thinner layer and used a curling iron so that the hair closest to my face would fall in wispy coils.
On the daily I use minimal make-up, but last night I went full face - moisturizer, primer, foundation, blush and bronzer. I filled in my brows so you could see I have some, and I used not one, not two, but three shades of eye shadow and two shades of eye liner! Not to mention the lip liner and lipstick. I participated. I had it going on.
When it came to my clothing, I wore the new sleeveless, eyelet LBD. This is a huge step-out for me because I abide by the no Public Display of Upper Arms rule. But I wore it anyway because I had it going on. I was going to wear my black, Kohls, fake Birkenstock slide sandals, but no, I opted for my blush-colored perforated leather shootie wedges to harken back to the eyelet in my dress. To top it off I wore my inheritance diamond earrings and my favorite moon and star gold necklace, and carried a black velvet clutch with colorful embroidery and green tassel zipper pull a Chinese student gifted me years ago.
I was ready. I prepped the car with my “If I Get Sick” kit, my “If I Get Cold” shawl. Husband added his “If We Get Thirsty or Need a Snack” cooler and we were off on the one hour and 29-minute ride to the venue. I snapped a fun picture for Facebook and the comments were, “effervescent”, “sparkly”, and the like. I would take a more serious selfie of us at the wedding to prove we really had it going on.
The ride down was mostly uneventful except for the kangaroo we passed who was sound asleep on his back showing all his business. I was sure he was dead because why would he be out in the broad daylight flat on his back showing the world his business? A quick Google search confirmed kangaroos do indeed sleep on their back and offered me a slideshow of 87 pictures of specifically male kangaroos sleeping. I declined, one in person was enough.
We reached the barn-style venue in plenty of time to see the end of the first look photo shoot and stand around awkwardly with people we did not know until it was time to take a seat. The groom came up and thanked us for coming, and my husband got to compliment the bride and shake hands with the groom’s dad and a couple of other co-workers so the “we saw and were seen” obligation was fully met.
The wedding took place outside under an ancient oak with a backdrop of a green sea of a soybean field. I chose a seat on the back row towards the shadiest spot under the oak. A few minutes before the seating music started the people in front of us turned to see what was going on behind us. Curious, I turned to see one of the grandfathers laying on the paved patio right outside of the barn. There was a crowd of people standing around him, so I knew he did not need my help. I turned away in respect and said a little prayer. A few minutes later he walked down the aisle, so I knew he was fine. Although it was Mississippi July Hot the slightest spit of rain fell and brought a little cool with it to make it all fine. It was a peaceful and lovely ceremony.
After the vows we made our way inside the back door of the barn. I took caution in stepping up into the building, remembering Grandpa on the ground. See, there was a bit of a step up, not even a step really, it’s just that the foundation for the barn was built up just a few inches higher than the foundation of the adjoining patio. Once inside I made a beeline to the drinks and poured myself a cup ¾ full of water and topped it off with sweet tea. In the food line I questioned my decision to get my drink first because I had a hard time toggling my drink with my plate and wondering how I was going to make that work. Spilling a barbeque dinner on my LBD was not in my plans. With my plate, drink, napkin and golden fork in hand I gave a quick scan of the tastefully decorated dining room and estimated there were not enough seats for the number of people in the room and my social anxieties and dread of small talk were too strong to sit at a cramped table with someone I didn’t know. And then there’s COVID. So, with my hands full I turned to my husband and said we should go outside. He asked if there were tables out there and I said yes, there were tables we could stand at, and I had one in my line of sight.
Then. Remember Grandpa on the pavement? Remember that step/not a step? Remember those Roadrunner cartoons where the Roadrunner would run off a cliff and Wile E. Coyote would follow and then he would sort of hang in the air for a few seconds before he would drop like a rock? Yep. One second I was carrying a barbecue dinner and a glass of watered-down sweet tea, eyeing an outside table that would save me from COVID and small talk, and the next second I was Wile E. Grandpa saying a cuss word and pulling my LBD down so no one would see the kangaroo lying on its back in the broad daylight.
Thankfully, my husband was right behind me and helped me up, but not before a crowd gathered to ask the obligatory “Are you alrights?” and hand me a napkin with lipstick on it to dry my wet, formerly wispy coils, and scrape my barbecue dinner off the pavement and hand it back to me.
I said I was fine and smiled with my eyes closed to make it not a lie. I wasn’t fine. I turned to my husband and said, “You know we are leaving right this minute, don’t you?” and we turned and walked away like we were guilty of setting fire to the place, and forsook our duties to congratulate the bride and groom and compliment her dress and choice of color scheme.
At the car I confessed to my bruised and skinned knee and ankle bone and sulked for quite a while. I finally whined that I was hungry, so he offered to stop at Cracker Barrel. My favorite aunt, Mary, used to call Cracker Barrel the Cabbage Patch so in her honor I will as well from this point out. I really didn’t want to go to the Cabbage Patch, but I had a hurt knee and ankle bone and my coils that were once wispy were now crunchy from that ¼ sweet tea and I was hungry. I really wanted to drive an hour to my favorite restaurant and drink a refreshing drink with gin in it and eat hot, fresh truffle potato chips topped with parmesan cheese and green onions. But I didn’t want to drive that far with my angry knee, and I didn’t want to limp into a white tablecloth establishment with crunchy hair even if I did have on three shades of eyeshadow and an LBD that miraculously did not get a speck of barbecue dinner on it.
We did go to Cabbage Patch and ate a delightful fried chicken dinner, and I didn’t get sick, not even a little. Husband also treated to me to a side trip to Marshalls where I limped around and partook of some retail therapy that did not ease the pain of my injuries but did help me forget about the indignity of it all. Until now.
Moral of the story? Don’t let your social anxieties and fear of small talk and COVID rule your life, or you’ll end up on the pavement like a sleeping kangaroo. Oh, and for all that is holy, watch your step!
