An old friend of mine got married two weeks ago – the first of my most inner circle of childhood friends to don the dress and cut the cake. It was a surreal experience, one that I couldn’t attach to any sort of reality even while in the midst of it standing with the other bridesmaids grinning for photos. While the two of us never went so far as to attach pillowcases to our heads and walk through our homes, garden-picked flowers in hand; we had talked about boys and kids and marriage, but always with a whimsical air of fantasy that came from a sort of invisible understanding that all of this was light years ahead of us. Throughout her reception, it felt like she had staged an elaborate game of make-believe for us…and while I ate my seared lamb with baby snow peas, drank delightful champagne cocktails, and even while I gave a speech from the front of the reception hall – I was half expecting her mother to burst in asking
Do you girls want some juice? Have you eaten yet?
and my friend to answer, harassed;
Oh Muuuuum. You’re so embarrassing! We’re fiiiine…
before we laughed a little about parents and went back to our game.
Of course, the reception remained uninterrupted by bedroom-barging parents; and my friend’s wedding went off without any of the traditional mishaps or logistical difficulties that scare to-be brides.
The day went so smoothly in fact (punctuated sporadically by mini sandwiches, vanilla champagne and the arrival of the photographers) that the only moment of panic we experienced was caused by something as inconsequential as a tube of gold body shimmer:
So relaxed were we; so painted of nail, curled of hair and smoothed of skirt that we decided it would be a fun idea to give our Anglo-skinned selves a holiday sheen…just a lick of course. And so, fifteen minutes before leaving to go to the church, we cracked out the gel shimmer, and began applying it liberally to all exposed surfaces. Reactions from the bride’s brothers were so positive (“Oh you guys look so tanned and beachy!” ) that we decided to partake in a little more, then a little more…until, at the moment of departure signaled by the bride’s father, we looked down to see that we had created a streaky mess about the calves more befitting a middle-aged, solarium-going ex-beach bunny rather than three young bridesmaids. In the white-ribboned car on the way to the church, we debated whether the streakage was noticeable from afar. Close up, horror. But from far away, perhaps not? In the end, I decided that the idea of striding down the aisle with legs like those was not a risk worth taking, and so, with no way of bathing before arriving at the church; I had to devise a method of shimmer removal with what was available to me in the backseat. This turned out to be a sponge-bath in the form of a small hand towel, and the rain from the windows from a massive, yet short-lived downpour we’d experienced that morning. Odd. But it worked like a charm. Legs again alabaster…down the aisle we went.