And I Can Cook, Too

Friday, November 10, 2006

June 16, 2006

A Proposal You Can’t Refuse

The next stop on our trip (via Chicago-O’Hare) was scenic Detroit, Michigan. My husband’s best childhood friend was getting married, and the gang from elementary school gathered to celebrate. The wedding was held in the lobby of an Embassy Suites. Four flower coated pedestals marked the footprint of the marital area, inside of which chairs were arranged to create an aisle. The chairs faced the doorway to the pool and area, and the gazebo placed in front did not completely cover the bathing suit clad hotel guests coming and going. As the guests gathered, I couldn’t help but notice the differing fashion sense among the female guests that seemed to be segregated by bride or grooms side. Guests of the groom were mostly dressed in semi formal, tea length cocktail dresses with tidy hair dos’ and a little bit of makeup. Guests of the bride were mostly dressed in floor length, neckline plunging ball gowns with hairpiece assisted fabulous updo’s and lots of false eyelashes. In addition to the oddity of the women’s dress code, there was also a discrepancy amongst the male guests. The groom’s guests mostly wore suits with not much more than a wedding ring or a watch. The brides guests also wore suits, but kicked up the accessories by adding a second human being in the form of large, beefy men who stood off the shoulders of the actual guests, declined all cocktail offers, spoke to no one, and kept their eyes on the doors.

My husband signaled the start of the ceremony by walking his friend’s mother down the aisle. The bridesmaids (in tight, floor length, plunging neckline dresses, hairpieces and false eyelashes) took their place, and the bridal march began. We turned to see the bride, and no one was there. Just as we thought she wasn’t coming, someone pointed to the ceiling. There was the bride, standing in the lobby’s glass elevator and facing her guests in full bridal glory. As the elevator slowly made it’s way to the lobby, I had the following thoughts: 1) She’s never going to make it before the music runs out, 2) Some kid in a wet swimsuit has pushed the button and is going to get in there with her, and, 3) Why is her father wearing a fedora?

After the ceremony we were treated to a cocktail reception in a different section of the lobby. The guests mingled and chatted the typical wedding “she looks beautiful” chatter and I found myself standing next to the father of the bride, who, in addition to the fedora, was now completely accessorized with the big beefy man standing just behind his shoulder. “Congratulations,” I said, “It was a beautiful ceremony. He reached over, patted the top of my hand, and said “Mahmahmah”. I smiled and walked away, not completely sure if I’d been cursed or blessed.

Turns out, several of the brides brothers were not invited to the wedding. The bride didn’t want anybody getting shot.

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