Category Archives: Weddings

Do the Whirlwind

It all started Friday night when Roommate had a date night so I went out to watch the Sox That all went fine until after the game when this guy kept buying me drinks I wound up making out with him a bit As I recall he wasn’t a good kisser I woke up the next morning with that feeling that it’s best that the details are hazy I had a killer headache Roommate laughed her ass off when I recounted the evening’s events in my little girl doesn’t feel good voice Had some water and prayed for death Rallied Made it out to the store to get a wedding gift for friend’s wedding the following day then went to the park so that I wouldn’t waste a beautiful day Bought a very cute dress for wedding as I have learned that looking good takes the sting out of spinsterhood Once shopping was completed I went home and collapsed on the couch for a time before rallying yet again to see Architecture in Helsinki Talk about a killer show Fun fun fun fun dance dance dance whirlwind blast Couldn’t stop smiling Got home Sox in bottom of the tenth Had bad feeling Collapsed into bed Woke up next morning to hear the score was thirteen to six What the fuck Got dressed and went to Friend’s wedding and had a genuinely delightful time I guess that can happen at weddings Caught up with old friends ate some food drank some wine came home Collapsed into bed Woke up and went to work Left work and drove to New Hampshire to see friend from England of original Fluff fame at her mom’s house Had wonderful time visiting with her and other friends That is until I found out the Sox lost yet again Drove home Collapsed into bed Woke up and went to work Long day Exhausted Got home and took off for hair appointment Ah the joy of having someone massage one’s head Exchanged drinking stories with hilarious and talented stylist Bought too many hair products Took train home Arrived just in time for the game to start Roommate and I swore at the television as the Sox lost yet again Collapsed into bed Got up and went to work where a monstrous index awaited my loving ministrations Long long day Got home Popped laundry in washer Fixed dinner Collapsed on couch and nearly fell asleep while watching the Grey’s spin off though I like it when Roommate came home We watched it together Put extra concert ticket up on Craigslist Sat down and typed this thing Will promptly collapse into bed Tomorrow am getting together with Fresh Hell and Andraste for beer and Sox Then off to Stars and then Vermont Sometime around Sunday I can get off this crazy thing for a bit Then it starts again Whilwind indeed

My First Setup

Poor Dive. His well-meaning relations and friends keep trying to set him up with ugly, American-fat women with “lovely personalities,” and he wishes that they would just stop. His tale of woe reminded me of the first time someone tried to marry me off. It happened when I was barely fifteen.

My mother had a friend named Katherine. Katherine was from the Old Country, and she loved me. She would go on and on about my hair and how beautiful it was. Once for a school project I interviewed her and her husband on tape about how they escaped the Nazis and then the Soviets in Poland before they came to America. In the middle of the interview, she cried, “You haf beauuuuutiful hair. You washen?” When I had to play the tape for the class, pandemonium ensued. Everyone asked me if I washed my hair on a daily basis for the rest of the year.

Well, since I was so beautiful, Katherine was absolutely horrified when she learned that my mother had not yet arranged a marriage for me. Not wanting me to become a spinster (good thing she’s passed on—she’d be horrified to know that I’m still single), she had decided to take matters into her own hands. First, she invited me over to give me cooking lessons. Under her gruff tutelage, I learned to make tea cakes and other niceties for the table. I liked to bake, so these lessons were fun for me. “You haf tu cook to pleaze a man!” she’d say. I giggled, thinking to myself that I had tu cook to pleaze my belly.

Satisfied that I had the proper skills, she decided to start making inquiries (without telling my mother—or me—of course). When she had found an eligible man, she called my mother and asked her to send me to her house for coffee. I tromped on up the hill to her house, and when I got there, I noticed that she’d gotten out the good china and had set a table for two. “Oh! Are we having fancy coffee, Katherine?” I asked. Katherine smiled.

There was a knock on the door, and in walked a man in his late fifties, dressed in a suit and tie. He was also Polish, and he smiled at me approvingly. “Sit! Sit!” Katherine barked at me. I sat. So did the man. Katherine poured the coffee and set out the cakes. “She isth very good cook!” Katherine told the man.

“I didn’t make these,” I explained to the man. After Katherine had set us up, she left for the kitchen. This is weird, I thought, but didn’t make much of it. Apparently she wanted me to have coffee with the guy. Maybe he wanted to talk about college. We had a little chat, drank our coffee, and ate the cakes. The man kept smiling at me in a very strange way, but I just chatted away.

The snack done, I told Katherine that I had to go. “I have dancing lessons in an hour,” I explained. “See!” She said to the man, “She danz. She talented!” The man smiled again, and I said goodbye and tromped back down the hill to my house.

No sooner had I arrived home when the phone rang. My mother answered. It was Katherine. My mother listened to what she had to say, shot me a very quizzical look, and sternly explained to Katherine that she didn’t think it was a good idea. I could hear Katherine saying, “But they talken! They laughen! It ist a good match!” My mom’s face started to wrinkle and she was starting to laugh, but she kept her voice firm. “No, Katherine. I don’t think that she’s ready for that” and hung up the phone. Then she collapsed into peals of laughter.

“Katherine tried to set you up with a geezer!” She gasped. “That man! That man you met wants to marry you! You’re fifteen!” She barely got the words out.

“What????” I said. “Eeeew. She wanted me to marry him? He’s older than Daddy!” I felt funny.

My mom continued to laugh, “Oh my!” she’d say, wiping her eyes. “Oh dear! Oh hee hee hee!”

Katherine, on the other hand, thought my mother was insane and didn’t recover quickly from the slight. My mother decided that I wasn’t to go to Katherine’s without supervision. Eventually, however, Katherine tried again. This time she called my mother.

“I haf another man for yur daughter. He tall. He smart, he handsome, he young. He going to be doktor.”

“No, Katherine,” my mother said gently. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I know you mean well, but we don’t do things like that here.” And with that, Katherine gave up.

Katherine died when I was in college, and I couldn’t make it home for the funeral. My mother called me afterwards, very apologetic. “Oh, Honey. I think I blew it. You know that last guy Katherine wanted to set you up with? Well, I met him. He was young, tall, and handsome. He is in medical school. He’s really nice. He also has a girlfriend. I’m so sorry. Perhaps I should have listened to her.”

Oh well. I guess I shouldn’t complain about being single.

A Different Approach to Family Weddings

Friday morning I looked at what I wrote about going to a family wedding, wrinkled my nose, and thought, That doesn’t sound like someone who has spent thousands of dollars on therapy.

My family’s judgment and pity, no matter how well-intentioned it might be, is indeed hostile, but I don’t have to buy into it. Upon reflection, I realized that I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of for being single. In fact, I’ve enjoyed many experiences and opportunities that most of them have not, precisely because I have not had a husband and children to think about. So why should I give into to their belief that my life has been a meaningless preamble to that time when a man takes me off their hands?

I decided that instead of dreading the wedding and their questions that I was going to hold my head up high and show them that there is more than one acceptable way to live one’s life.

Since I had taken the day off, I had the morning and a good bit of the afternoon to myself. I headed into town, and wandered around the North End, stopping for a cappuccino at my favorite caffé. While there, I surreptitiously spied on a table of old men playing cards and speaking Italian and resolved to get back to my Italian studies in order to hone my multilingual eavesdropping skills. After a leisurely stay at the caffé, I popped into an Italian grocer and procured some bread and cheeses before going to Haymarket for some produce and heading home.

Once home, I assembled a plate of bread, cheeses, olives, fava bean pods, and a little pool of a little pool of acacia honey; poured myself a glass of wine; and went out to the patio for a divine repast. I chuckled to myself at the thought of pulling off a day like this with a red-blooded, American husband.

Then it was time to get ready, and I surveyed my closet. My original plan was to wear any old thing and to look, well, nice. That would not do with my new plan. I was going to make sure that when my family said things like, Sassy, you’re so pretty why has no one scooped you up? they were going to mean it.

Aha! Here’s the thing! I had recently picked up a dress appropriate for a moderately fancy occasion, like a really good dinner, or say, a wedding. This dress also happens to show off my tits and assets in a most becoming way. Perfect. I got ready for this wedding like I get ready for a date. When I was done, I looked in the mirror, shot myself a devilish little smile, and headed out the door.

It is most helpful for one’s confidence when a young man flirts with one for twenty miles in stop-and-go traffic, while one listens to lively music and pretends that one is not noticing that a guy ten years one’s junior keeps checking one out. Thank you, young man, you helped me out immensely.

I got to the church just as the ceremony started (bad traffic, you know?), so I didn’t have to meander about, encountering family with nothing better to do than to grill me about my single status. I sat next to my parents, and my mother said, My God, Sassy, you look so beautiful! She always says stuff like that, but as other family members noticed that I had decided to join them, they all mouthed, You look great! Heh. I did.

The wedding started, and we sat down, stood up, kneeled down, and whatever doo-dah is involved in Catholic weddings (this is a renegade scion of our Protestant family), and Presto-Chango! my cousin’s son (big age differences in the family—Cousin’s Son might be young, but not that young, as Cousin is in his late forties) became a married man.

After the ceremony, we milled outside to socialize. This was when I brought out Little Sassy Schmoozer to my advantage. Instead of mumbling some excuse as to why my life was so pathetic that I hadn’t managed to snag a man, I charmed the pants off of all of them, telling them about my exciting life. Oh, I’m living in the city now, and I’ve been traveling and doing all sorts of exciting things, Relative BusyBody. And, Auntie Homophobe, while I would be proud to be a lesbian if I happened to be one, I am in fact dating a great guy at the moment and having a grand time. Instead of pity, I got admiration from my impressed relatives.

My sister, brother-in-law, and I rode with my uncle in his restored Model A to the reception (Sister and Brother-in-Law rode in the rumble seat), waving at everyone like we were in a parade. The reception wound up being a lot of fun, and my sister and I learned that one of my aunts can still cut a rug like you wouldn’t believe, so the three of us showed our stuff on the dance floor. I talked to almost everyone, and actually enjoyed myself. I didn’t think that my cousin’s children remembered me, but apparently I was always known as the cool older cousin, and they were delighted to see me. Heh. The youngins’ think I’m cool. And that’s because I am.

So that’s how I survived the family wedding. I think I’ll try it again at the next function. Beats the hell out of swilling cheap booze and trying to be invisible.