Nothing convenient about a wedding.
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Many weddings are in the summer. This
seems reasonable with nice weather and the
bride enjoying a little sunglow to her cheeks.
But one of our children was married in Georgia
in July. It was pretty much like walking
into the bowels of hell and I may have mentioned
it to the bride and groom on more than
one occasion.
January is the least popular month for a
wedding and I see this as a no brainer. Who
wants snow in their slippers? Who wants to
slip in their slippers? Well, I would know, because
another child was married in Austria in
November. It’s snowy, cold and damp there
that time of year, and the person in charge of
warming up the church, didn’t. I’ll just tell
you now that I was spectacularly stunning
with fuzzy yoga pants under my skirt, and
hand warmers in the pockets of my ski parka.
Why can’t my children get it right? I should
be the wedding planner. It could be my side
hustle. I’d have everyone marrying in Georgia
in January when it’s a perfect temp with
no sweating involved, plus, it’s the Bible Belt
so there’s minimal swearing. Summer weddings
could possibly be in Wyoming, with the
bride wearing long johns for undies, and lucky
her, unlike the rest of us, she’d have a veil to
fight the vile hordes of mosquitoes. Side note:
Since we are not in the Bible Belt, mosquitoes
are the jump-starters to our summer swearing.
Fall is the most popular time to wed, with
October being number one. I find this puzzling.
If that’s really true, why is it that I’ve
never seen an orange wedding dress? And
since Seaptember is number two, we should
see camouflage on a cummerbund. Honestly,
call me about your wedding plans. Let me be
of service. I’d get you all fixed up – I’m seldom
right but never in doubt.
When Gar and I first married, I think people
feared we wouldn’t make it because we
were so different. That doesn’t seem to be a
worry anymore because we’re much more
compatible. Now we really are each other’s
type. We’re both chubby and bearded.
When you first say, “I do,” you have to
give each other time to settle in. Nobody is
marriage-worthy in the beginning. It takes
time to figure things out. I recently saw where
two Hollywood actors were splitting up after
only two years of marriage. I was like, “Two
years? Two years!” I screeched to Gar, “They
don’t even know which one of the quirks the
other has they hate the most yet.”
Women want to be nurtured. I really
think men, all their married life, fumble their
way, trying to be romantic but romance does
change somewhat as the years pass. When
I’ve cooked supper, it sets my heart aflutter if
Gar says to me, “That wasn’t the worst meal
we’ve ever had.” Newly married girls want
flowers and flattery. Later we’re tickled when
our guy puts a new end on the garden hose
for us. I’m semi-joking. All women, no matter
the age, want to be told we’re the best thing
that ever happened to our men. Gar tells me he
loves me, but likes to remind me of what my
Gramps said to my Gram once when she complained
he rarely said he loved her, “I told you
when we got married and if it ever changes,
I’ll let you know.”
My man does find ways to endear me.
He built my flower gardens, put gravel in a
mud hole I’d complained about and makes an
amazing chef’s salad when I get home late.
But then again, he’s also a turd …
Once, in Texas having a reunion with our
kids, we were eating at a nice restaurant. Our
waitress looked searchingly at me, and said I
looked familiar. I just smiled. Soon she was
back, and again commented that I looked like
someone, but who? I gave a little, “I dunno”
shrug. On her third pass, she said, “I really
think I should know you.” Finally, she bent at
the waist, scrutinized me, and inquired, “I’ve
seen your face on the cover of something. Are
you famous?” Gar couldn’t resist. With our
kids all ears, he, with an air of importance,
matter-of-factly stated, “Well, she’s too modest
to mention it, but she does write a column
for the Pinedale Roundup.” The kids think
their dad is pretty dang funny. He’s not. I’ve
lived with him 40 years. I should know.
Contact Trena Eiden at trenaid@hotmail.
com.