This past Friday was my nephew’s wedding. The day technically began at 12:30 am when Kara arrived home from Atlanta but I delegated airport duty to my husband. All he needed to do to get ready for the wedding was to get a shave from the barber, take a shower, and put on his tuxedo. We remaining girls needed our beauty sleep.
Our day—mine, Sam, Briana’s and Kara’s in all practicality started around 7:30 am when everyone was ordered out of bed and into the shower. We were instructed by the salon to arrive with clean dry hair and so we did. We arrived at Madison Taylor Salon at 9:30 am. My mother drove herself.
And I have fabulous news to report—Vinny had a creative hair day. Not only did the coiffure swoop and cascade, it was destined to “stay.” Titanium rods could not pry it loose. Michele the makeup artist worked magic too. My mother was in high glamour mode. She managed to channel Elizabeth Taylor circa 1988—which was the intended goal. My mother donned white diamonds--she sparkled.
And the 3 girls loved their hair too—each stylist who understood the girls' personal likes and dislikes, came through. The 5 of us (including my mother) drove away feeling red carpet ready. Joan Rivers and the fashion police would only have flattering things to say. Joan would not begrudge the fact that I had hugged her weeks before.
And each girl’s dress was well fitted and appropriate. No one envied what another had on their body. Everyone felt special. Criticism was null. There was no conflict to resolve. And nobody forgot anything--everything was accounted for. And while my husband had purchased me a clipboard, I did not use it. Everyone minded homeland security. We arrived on time—although barely-- the bride was a few minutes early so we appeared later than we actually were.
And Samantha did not trip, slip, or stumble up to the altar when she gave her reading at mass. She didn’t stammer either. Our eyes welled up but we didn’t cry. We mostly just grinned and enjoyed the moment.
And we drank and drank and ate and ate and laughed and laughed. And I of course danced like Ellen Degeneres to old school rap. Briana performed Gaga’s Bad Romance. My cousin Betty showed Aretha some Respect. And we left only when the lights came fully on. Our Italian goodbyes took a long while—as they always do. We departed on the last party bus from the reception venue to the hotel. And all was wonderful and everyone was happy. The day was perfect. Reality exceeded expectation.
And when I arrived home on Saturday the house was completely in order. Blanca had cleaned up after us and slept over the night of the wedding to take care of the dogs. Cosmo had played with “red ball” with her and Jasper managed to live in this world for another day.
And I am sure it will take every bit of a week to get everything back to normal. The church and reception dresses (all 8 of them) must be dry cleaned and put back into the closet. The cufflinks and tuxedo accessories will have to go back in the container under the bed. The crown jewels will have to go back into the vault. The beaded bags will be placed into their drawstringed sleepers. And all the boxed silk shoes will be moved to the upper shelves.
It is over. And I am completely spent—mentally and physically. But I feel like I just won the US Open or the Tour de France. We worked hard and played hard. We were awesome. We were victorious. All the Aunt Sally inspired preparation yielded a prime outcome.
But now I have a new problem. I haven’t any idea how to post pictures on Facebook--and I know that that is what I am supposed to do. My peeps will request photos—and unless I post pictures there will be no proof that what I have just written is in fact true—evidence is needed. Hopefully, people will tag me and the girls in photos and post them on my wall—I think that will allow my friends to view the fabulous-ness although I am not quite sure. I still don't understand Facebook-ing very well. Because even if I want to sit down and figure it all out on my own, I am too tired—especially now after wedding #2 in which I should have painted eyeballs on my eyelids like I had intended. Unfortunately I have other more pressing work to do—like hand washing the Spanx and locating Kara’s misplaced American Express card. You know—the kind of very important yet unpaid stuff that I do all day.
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