Mawage

They are married and we survived it.

Part of me wants to simply end there…

Actually, things went quite well from the initial disaster in the Dollar Tree (see here) right through to the actual day.

That may have been largely due to the fact that Sally was off in Alberta, Canada, shooting another movie and Mom and I were planning the festivities with only minimal contact/input from her. Instead, we were listening to the other bride.

Because, yes, of course my mom and sister would plan to be married on the same day, in the same ceremony.

Hold onto your hats…

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that Mom and Sally are on completely opposite ends of the whole ‘body shape’ scale. Both are quite slender, but that is where all resemblance ends. Mom has to stretch to hit five feet and Sally has to wear flats to pass beneath a six-foot doorway. Mom has dark hair—well, dark with grey streaks (Sally-caused, I’m sure) and Sally is white-blonde and green-eyed.

Actually, if you’re interested, I look like my mom, albeit two inches taller. Sally takes after our late father.

Ahem…

Anyways, Mom and I arranged the ceremony, the reception, the hors d’oevres/real food, the flowers, and the tuxedo rentals. Actually, Uncle Pete arranged his own clothes. Mom and I just had to dress Mort. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds—mostly because Mort’s taste in clothes and ours is…well, let’s put it this way—Mom and I have taste.

Sally footed all the bills.

It actually worked surprisingly well.

Oh, things got a little tense when Sally’s booked flight from Alberta didn’t materialize in the still-confused post-covid I’ve-been-locked-up-for-over-two-years-and-I-have-to-go-somewhere airport frenzy. Still, she managed to make it with a little over nine hours to go before the ceremony.

AND she remembered to buy a dress!

Mom took the news well—blotting her eyes and coming out from under her bed with a big, rather watery smile on her face. Déjà vu.

Anyways, the people we had hired to do hair and nails arrived right on time. Ditto the limo—pulling into our cul-de-sac with minutes to spare. The dresses looked good. Mom’s was a soft, rather drifty chiffon that suited her right to the ground.

Sally (the I-don’t-care-what-I-look-like-as-long-as-I’m-covered girl) was wearing a surprisingly dramatic silver sheath that fitted her like it was painted on. And what was even more startling was when she turned to me and in a tone that could have been mistaken for uncertainty, asked, “Do I look all right?”

I blinked and nodded as my eyes unexpectedly filled with tears.

Mort and Peter were over at Uncle Pete’s. Mom and I figured if anyone could get that boy pointed in the right direction, it would be his future father-in-law/former army sergeant.

Anyways, we all arrived at the church on time. And apart from the two red-headed Townsend boys getting into a pillow fight partway down the aisle using their ring-bearer pillows (with rings ricocheting off nearby pews), things went as near to clockwork as they could have.

Even the reception started out well.

Food. Stories. Presentation of little bags of sel de fleur as wedding party favours provided by Uncle Pete/Dad's brother Goeffrey, whom we had all just met and who was the spitting image of his older sibling.

Toasts.

And that’s where things went so very wrong.

You have to know from reading past ‘Sally’ stories that she and punch bowls do not always co-exist peacefully. (See: Salloween.)

Well, Mom and I relented for this uber-important day and opted for a lovely carved-glass punchbowl, seated in lonely glory on its own small bench next to the head table and directly in front of the stage.

Opposite, at the other end of the head table was a twin bench which held the all-important wedding cake.

With me so far?

The toasts began.

Sally and Mort climbed up on the stage, excited to deliver their toasts to important people (ie. Mom, Uncle Pete/Dad, Peter and me). Raising their glasses of sparkling apple juice (we are a tee-totaling family, just FYI), they started in.

And it was at that moment that Mort…mis-stepped.

Now normally it wouldn’t be a problem.

But the two of them were standing at the edge of the stage, directly over the previously-mentioned punchbowl.

Mort slipped.

Sally tried to catch him.

And the two of them toppled sideways together off the stage.

And onto the inner side of the ‘punch’ table.

The legs of the table folded smartly, launching the punchbowl in a perfect arc over the head table.

Sloshing the hapless head-table sit-ees (Again, Mom, Uncle Pete/Dad, Peter and me) with bright crimson punch.

But it didn’t end there.

Nope.

Remember that part where I said the wedding cake, in all its glory was sitting peacefully on its own small bench at the opposite end of the head table?

Yeah. That.

The launched punchbowl, after describing the aforementioned perfect arc, landed bowl-side down on that beautiful, artistic creation.

Rendering it less so.

The room went silent.

Sally and Mort scrambled upright and surveyed the damage.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then everyone in the hall leaped to their feet and let out a wild cheer.

They were, after all, coming to a ‘Sally’ event.

And that means SOMETHING exciting must happen.

Right?

Mom shook her head and smiled ruefully at me while Uncle Pete/Dad dabbed at the rivulets of punch running down her cheeks with a formerly pristine napkin.

Then, as the cheering died down and people sank back into their seats, sighing with contentment, Uncle Pete/Dad got to his feet.

Once again the room went silent.

He nodded at Sally and Mort, who quickly sat down, and then turned and left the room.

A moment later, he returned, pushing a cart upon which was a massive (and quite beautiful) wedding cake.

Another cheer went up.

Yep. Dad’s got this.

Welcome to the family.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post—all words to be used at least once. All the posts are unique as each writer has received their own set of words. And here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words: Hors d’oeuvre ~ Cul-de-Sac ~ Déjà vu ~ Sel de Fleur ~ Ricochet

Were given to me, via Karen by my friend Tamara at https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/   

Now go and see what words the others got—and how they used them!

Baking In A Tornado

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver

Climaxed  

Part-time Working Hockey Mom

What TF Sarah