Operation Wedding: 1200 Miles in 5 Days
My cousin’s getting married in Chicago. Game on.
Now, there are some things you should know before we get to the church. Things like, the side bets my family makes about the insurance premiums and structural integrity of the building when I walk into a house of worship. Things like the questions they still ask about those explosions. Things like the chances that it’s still a church when I leave. The last time my folks talked me into coming to church with them was at a military chapel. Before the end of the mass, the Father introduced a 3-star general who announced that the building was going to be re-purposed for barracks, have a nice day. They’ve never asked me back.
So when I tell people I don’t usually go to churches, it’s not because I don’t like it. It’s just that I can’t countenance putting all those other people at risk. It’s a public service, really, just like the ego-reducing lining in my hats that helps keep my massive ego from accidental property damage. I’m a considerate guy, you know?
Speaking of hats, someone mentioned getting dressed up for the wedding. This depressed me a little, because I did not get dressed up for the wedding. Getting dressed up used to be fun – you break out your fancy clothes, put a tie on, grab your best hat – all the things that let you know you’re doing something special. I didn’t get “dressed up.” I dress like this all the time. I wore what I usually wear to work. I feel cheated, really, because for me to get dressed up, I’d need a frigging tuxedo, and of course there’s no call to wear a tuxedo because I’m not getting married. My job here is to make sure that none of my children make farting noises during the ceremony. (OK, my job is to make sure that none of my children make farting noises louder than Uncle Jerry during the ceremony.) SOBUMD’s job, it turns out, is educating the kids on the new surroundings, since they obviously don’t get to church much more often than I do.
We step into the pew and take a seat. There are large hymnals in the book holders in front of us. “What books are those?” asks the Reigning Queen of Pink.
My sister picked up a hymnal and said, “These are bibles.” She clearly comes here as often as I do.
“What’s a Bible?” asks the Reigning Queen of Pink.
Gobsmacked. I lost all powers of speech for a moment, right there, and my sister was so pole-axed that she couldn’t respond either.
SOBUMD jumped to our rescue: “It’s OK, they’re just like Korans.”
Luckily the services hadn’t started, because it took several more minutes to restore order in our section of the church. SOBUMD, who is so digital that she firmly believes God can be downloaded onto her iPhone (“There’s an App for that!”), noted that there were several WiFi networks near enough to connect to from there; one of them was called “Death Star”. I can only hope that it was a local neighbor geek and not a subtle indictment of papal authority, but these days you never know.
Once we all settled into our places, the celebrants started filtering into the church. The bride was lovely in white, as brides are, except more so, on account of she’s beautiful, and the groom wore – yeah right. No one looks at the groom. He looked fine, you know, for my cousin. At least he got to dress up. Toward the end of the ceremony there was a bit with candles; the mothers each lit a candle and used them together to light a single new candle.
Number One Son leaned over and whispered, “Daddy, what’s the point of the candles?”
“Well,” said I, “the two flames are the two people getting married, and they’re being married into a single new flame together, as a married unit – a single spiritual being in the eyes of god. Or, it may signify the bikini waxing the bride got yesterday for the wedding night.”
“Nothing, never mind.” No wonder they don’t know what bibles look like.
The wedding went off without a hitch, or rather with one, if you catch my drift, and if you’re still reading after a pun that bad I should probably apologize, but I won’t. The reception followed at a nice hotel, where friends and families gathered, caught up, ate up, and got down with their bad selves. There was plenty of great food, yummy things to drink, and music and dancing. I got to dance with all my cousins, which was great except for one of them, who left me alone on the dance floor 45 seconds into the song. Why he wouldn’t want to dance to Right Said Fred’s I’m Too Sexy with the Big Ugly Man Doll, I’m sure I don’t understand. I mean, I left most of my clothes on! Just not comfortable enough with his masculinity, I guess… Ah well, we love him anyway. I have to say, not because no one else would, but because none of the rest of them (barring SOBUMD) are blogging: Our family rocks – and it’s nice to have a new family member!
Next up: The Return to Ohio