That Girl

Calves are sore. Eyes are tired. Body is exhausted and reminding me that I am too old for a weekend of almost non stop, party type activity.

It was for a good reason. My brother was married in a very lovely, gaffe-filled Catholic ceremony on Saturday afternoon. The organist forgot that the Matron of Honor* would not be in the procession and kept playing for several minutes after the bridal party had finished walking down the aisle. The bride and her father began walking down the aisle too early. The priest (a last minute substitution as the pastor was ill) called the bride by the wrong name. Twice.

There were two second readings, as the cantor pointed out the incorrect passage the first time. The priest walked up to the podium at the conclusion of reading 2.1, flipped the pages to the correct passage and had the reader complete 2.2.

Due to the Matron of Honor's immobility, she was unable to get the bouquet back to the bride after the vows had been completed. She passed the flowers off to me and I dashed across the altar, behind the back of the priest giving communion, to hand them back to the bride.

And the priest forgot their last name while introducing the newly married couple.

I was “that girl” during the reception and ready to celebrate, not only my brother's marriage, but that I managed to escape (for the present) the economic downturn that lead my former employer to decide to close the Pittsburgh office at the end of this month. I danced, I flirted with the small children, I tricked couples into showing off some moves. I stole into the bridal sweet with my SIL, my aunt and two members of the bridal party to decorate the rooms.

Then J and I stumbled back to our room, where J made me drink several glasses of water before he would allow me to go to sleep. I woke up three hours earlier then intended, not in the best of shape, but in better shape then I deserved considering my excesses of the prior day.

* Matron of Honor broke her leg on New Year's Eve and is in a cast – not a traditional plaster cast but one of those wicked frame contraptions with pins extending from the frame into her leg, to hold the bones into place. The name of this type of cast escapes me.