Wedding Bells

This weekend, Himself and I traveled to West Virginia to attend the wedding of an old Navy friend of his. After laboring for weeks on what was appropriate dress for an evening wedding in West Virginia, I settled on a summery suit. The only suit I should have worn, in hindsight, was my bathing suit. We arrived to find that the wedding was to be held outdoors. In August. Bad idea.

I am not sure whatever possessed the bride and groom to even consider an outdoor wedding in August. Certainly common sense, in this case, was derailed by emotion. There are two things which are reliably true about August: 1) It is ALWAYS hot in August if you are north of the Equator and south of the North Pole. 2) If you are east of the Mississippi, it will ALWAYS be humid. Combined, one is pretty much guaranteed that the entire month will be miserable.

So, we sat and suffered - melting in the 100-degree heat and 90% humidity - for half and hour. Himself and I placed bets on whether the grandmothers, resting on a bench under a large tree and looking deathly pale, or the groomsmen, dressed in full black tuxes, would pass out first. We prayed for the wind to stir the air, so thick with humidity it felt almost solid. We looked at each other and silently wondered how two seemingly bright college graduates could have been so blind to the elements.

We wiggled and fidgeted and silently groaned like school kids. As soon as the ceremony was over we, along with the other guests, dashed to the dimly lit air-conditioned ballroom where the reception was to be held, breathing a sigh of relief. Now the good part would begin.

Quiet chaos ranged as we realized there was no assigned seating. Uncomfortable, since the only people Himself knew were in the bridal party and the only person I knew was the groom himself, we found a corner table and sat down by ourselves. It felt like being the last one picked for a sports team in elementary school - staring across the room at the rest of the friends and relatives. Then, after an hour and a half of sitting and gulping water faster than the poor waiter could refill it, the bridal party arrived from whatever secret rendezvous happens between the wedding and the reception (since ours were on different days, I never did discover the secret even at our own wedding!).

We dined on hotel-issue rubber chicken and dull prime rib, and agreed later that whatever they paid for the food was too much. The highlight of the evening was the dancing and the DJ, as it is at most wedding receptions. And, of course, catching up with a few old friends and acquaintances. It was one of the few forays I've had into Himself's pre-Sara life - mixing with people who knew him after his divorce and before we met.

All in all, I'm glad we drove the 3+ hours to attend. Himself would disagree, but I think weddings are one of the greatest celebrations life has to offer. Still, I wonder at the sanity behind couples who spend thousands of dollars to entertain guests they see only briefly at the event, dine on less-than-stellar food, and drink enough to obliviate any memories.

It makes me more and more fond of our tiny little celebration we called a reception.