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SugarMaple of Celeste
Jan. 12th, 2019 09:53 pmWe have escaped the reception, after over SEVEN HOURS of non-stop being with and among people. The dancing started, and the sound system was really bad. You could hardly distinguish a melody, but the volume was cranked up to eleventy, a level that literally hurt my ears. I hate to sound like an old fogey, but we couldn't have talked to anyone if we'd wanted to, and I don't want to damage my ears permanently. We were pretty much done anyway.
The bride and groom made a lovely couple, the playing of the giant organ was stately and majestic, and the wedding would have been nice if only someone could have shot the minister. When he pointed out that the bride and groom had walked toward the altar "in the shadow of the cross," I wanted to pick up said cross and beat him with it. Then he went into a long parable about marriage that involved some Happy Meal boxes, and I whispered discreetly into the Sparrowhawk's ear, "Can we please just kill him now?" Each Happy Meal box symbolized one of the participants in the marriage, you see. And they somehow have to be united without harming either of them. A nice enough thought, I suppose. But then he solved the problem for us by taping the boxes to either side of the cross and said that the bride and groom will find happiness in marriage by "leaning into the hands of Jesus." Aaaack. That's just kinky and weird, and not in a good way. Who wants to think about the hands of Jesus on their wedding night? Not me, that's for sure. At this point my inner barbarian rose up and said "WHY IS HE NOT DEAD YET? I want his head on a pike. Now. And then let the celebration commence. End of ceremony!" If the priest had tried any of that hanky panky at our nuptials, it would have been a Red Wedding for sure. What a travesty. I really felt sorry for the newlyweds.
However, they didn't seem to feel sorry for themselves, and maybe it will soon be a distant blur in their memories anyway. We drove to the house of some people we don't know for pre-reception refreshments. They were super kind and hospitable. I envy them tremendously because they have some things I've always wanted: sheep, chickens, a creek in the back yard, and an imposing French stove with five gas burners, enameled in a tres chic shade of delicate pink. Who wouldn't like to start the day by gathering fresh eggs from the chicken coop and then cooking them on a French pink stove! But I guess I wouldn't want it if it meant I had to stay in Frankenmuth forever.
We then had dinner at one of the famous chicken restaurants of Frankenmuth. This was good because now I know I'll never need to eat there again. The problem with being a good cook is that most restaurant food is just tiresome because it's so much worse than what you can make at home. The Sparrowhawk enjoyed chatting with Baby Doc and family, with whom we were seated, and I did my best to ask engaging questions and be an agreeable conversationalist. All in all, a successful day. And the minister will never know how narrowly he escaped a dire fate.
The bride and groom made a lovely couple, the playing of the giant organ was stately and majestic, and the wedding would have been nice if only someone could have shot the minister. When he pointed out that the bride and groom had walked toward the altar "in the shadow of the cross," I wanted to pick up said cross and beat him with it. Then he went into a long parable about marriage that involved some Happy Meal boxes, and I whispered discreetly into the Sparrowhawk's ear, "Can we please just kill him now?" Each Happy Meal box symbolized one of the participants in the marriage, you see. And they somehow have to be united without harming either of them. A nice enough thought, I suppose. But then he solved the problem for us by taping the boxes to either side of the cross and said that the bride and groom will find happiness in marriage by "leaning into the hands of Jesus." Aaaack. That's just kinky and weird, and not in a good way. Who wants to think about the hands of Jesus on their wedding night? Not me, that's for sure. At this point my inner barbarian rose up and said "WHY IS HE NOT DEAD YET? I want his head on a pike. Now. And then let the celebration commence. End of ceremony!" If the priest had tried any of that hanky panky at our nuptials, it would have been a Red Wedding for sure. What a travesty. I really felt sorry for the newlyweds.
However, they didn't seem to feel sorry for themselves, and maybe it will soon be a distant blur in their memories anyway. We drove to the house of some people we don't know for pre-reception refreshments. They were super kind and hospitable. I envy them tremendously because they have some things I've always wanted: sheep, chickens, a creek in the back yard, and an imposing French stove with five gas burners, enameled in a tres chic shade of delicate pink. Who wouldn't like to start the day by gathering fresh eggs from the chicken coop and then cooking them on a French pink stove! But I guess I wouldn't want it if it meant I had to stay in Frankenmuth forever.
We then had dinner at one of the famous chicken restaurants of Frankenmuth. This was good because now I know I'll never need to eat there again. The problem with being a good cook is that most restaurant food is just tiresome because it's so much worse than what you can make at home. The Sparrowhawk enjoyed chatting with Baby Doc and family, with whom we were seated, and I did my best to ask engaging questions and be an agreeable conversationalist. All in all, a successful day. And the minister will never know how narrowly he escaped a dire fate.
