Meanderings: July 31, 1999

Saturday,
July 31, 1999
W-Day

Have you ever tried to shimmy into something elastic while still damp from a shower? Take my advice -- don't.

I think I wrestled with my underwear for a full ten minutes while Lyndon and I were doing the Bathroom Shuffle (now I dash in for a shower, now he dashes in for a shower, now I dash in to brush my teeth, now he dashes in to shave, yadda yadda), but finally got the damned things on.

And why, the sharp-eyed reader may wonder, did I take yet another shower when I had just taken one the night before? Because after breakfast at the pub, we went out in search of a store that sold cards (it was kinda pointless to buy one in Stockholm, since I don't think Dangerous or Cara reads Swedish), which meant a brisk hour's walk down to a local mall that had a Sainsbury's (English supermarket chain) and back again. Said walk would have been a doddle, except that it got hot -- again. And since I hadn't been expecting temps like that, I only packed jeans and short-sleeved but warmish shirts. Needless to say, by the time we got back to the hotel we were both drenched in sweat -- hence the second shower.

A few hours later, fresh as a slightly wilted daisy and dressed in all our celebratory finery, we trooped out to the coach that Dangerous's mum had arranged to take guests to the wedding. Which was absolutely beautiful, by the way -- held on the grounds of Cara's old school, with the wedding in the school chapel and the reception in the old library, it looked like something out of FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL. The groom and ushers were all done up in morning coats and cravats, and the bridesmaids wore these beautiful cornflower blue gowns. Cara's dress was really stunning -- a short-sleeved scoop-neck bodice in satin that was tinted the palest blue, a white silk skirt, just the right amount of lace edging the neck and waist, and everything set off by the biggest grin I'd seen on a human being in recent times. Its twin was on the groom's face.

I think that's what was so notable about this wedding -- the bride and groom were just so incredibly happy. Yes, the planning had taken a lot out of them, yes, their clothing was hot and sticky, yes, they had to stand around for pictures, but by gum they were MARRIED now, and to the perfect mate. It just felt good to be near them.

The ceremony went without a hitch, and the reception afterwards was a lot of fun. Much lager and bitter was consumed, and many people made it to the dance floor, including yours truly, who apparently participated in a rather spirited dance to "Livin' La Vida Loca", if tearing off Lyndon's tie and throwing it into the crowd counts. Oh, what the hell, we had fun.

Later that night, there were some celebratory fireworks "which I'm sure the neighbors appreciated", and we waved off the kissing bride and groom as they took a taxi back to their hotel for the night, trailing the required tin cans and balloons. Finally got a taxi back to our own hotel, where I shimmied out of my underwear, looked at myself in the mirror and cried, "Lyndon, I'm dented!"

That's what ribbing will do for you. Or is it to you?

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