Monday, October 10, 2005

Honey-Do In Hot Water

It is Monday, Oct. 10, the day after our daughter's wedding. To say that there are some cob webs in our heads would be an understatement. The events of Sunday, beginning with rising in the morning until settling in bed in the wee hours of Monday, were so numerous that one posting wouldn't do them justice. Thus following begins the Chronicles of Gretchen's Wedding Day.

In nature there is a certain order to things. In the animal world, this pecking order insures the survival of the fittest. Within the human family this can be observed on a typical morning when members of the household vie for bathroom. This daily routine takes on a ritualistic aura on the morning of your daughter's Wedding.

(The thrill of victory: to find the bathroom vacant! The agony of defeat: finding the bathroom in use! You are watching The Wild World of Life!)

....As a matter of survival, I am usually the last to get up on a typical morning. This arrangement leaves my wife and daughter to do battle over the facilities. Today was no exception, or so I thought! I was awakened before the Bathroom Wars had begun. It was 7:45am and behind the closed door I could hear the rainstorm that was the shower. Was my daughter the first in there? Was my wife in the wings waiting? If so, I was facing twenty minutes or more of agonizing stress.
....Have you ever tried to walk with your legs crossed? Believe you me, it isn't easy! Have you ever tried to explain the jaundiced color that your eyes have taken? I cannot describe the relief a man feels, it is actually a placebic pleasure. Although I doubted earlier my ability to wait, the dream-like visage of my face no doubt suggested euphoria when the release finally occurred.
....In lieu of the photographer's arrival later, I followed the pre-issued instructions to put away the TV tray, floor fan, pillow etc., that was surrounding my recliner. It was then that I understood why the end tables and lamps were treated as flotsam and jetsam the day before. They were exiled to the basement to open up space for the man with the camera to do his thing.

....Around 10:30am - I couldn't believe how fast the morning was passing - I began the male version of primping. After shaving, trimming my moustache, nose and ear hair, I stepped into the shower. My aching muscles began to loosen even before the water was pouring onto them.

Aarrrgh! Where is the cold water?!

Somewhere, the B-52's Rock Lobster must have been vibrating through someone's speakers. I had unwittingly just discovered what a lobster must go through when it is dropped into that boiling pot.
....Usually it is the hot water that is playing hooky when one steps under the stream of a shower head. That bone-chilling shock to the system is like being cast adrift in an iceberg laden ocean.
....It was the day of the big Wedding, scarcely six and a half hours away, I must have been crazy to think nothing else could go wrong. You see, Murphy the Lawmaker does not honor the Sabbath. Where in the hell is the cold water? You've got to be kidding me! If I'd been dressed, you might have said I was hot under the collar. When the water was finally regulated, I quickly forgot about a possible faulty mixer valve. I thought I was in heaven as the water began to ease the taut tissues under my skin. The shower head, set on massage, placed me in a state of abandon not unlike the euphoria I had felt earlier.

(I'll bet you knew this was going to happen!)

I must have fallen overboard into arctic waters. The shock was sudden, so unexpected that at first I could not move! What happened to the hot water?! As suddenly as it had happened, the water was okay. I don't know if we were beset with poltergeists or if Murphy still had a few more by-laws to enact. The rest of the shower was without incident. Doing my best Columbo investigation, I learned that the hot-cold phenomenon had been perpetrated upon only me.

It was 11:45 and time for me to drive to the florist to pick up the Wedding flowers. While I was off on that mission, a beautician would be arriving to apply make-up to the Bride and Maids-of-Honor. The trip for the flowers was uneventful. The traffic was light both ways. The flowers were ready, all eighteen of the separate floral pieces were checked off and accounted for. Back home by 12:15, it was time for me to start getting dressed. By previous arrangement was wife was off getting her hair done. While everything was moving smoothly right along, the clock was relentlessly moving closer and closer to each scheduled event. At 1pm, the photographer would be there to do the house shoot of the Bride, the Maids and the parents.

The photographer arrived on time, but two of the Maids were late. The professional that he was, he never lost a beat and simply took his shots in reverse order. As if on cue, the other two girls of the party arrived. Completing his list of shots, he then took a few more photos per request of everyone. Hah! I'll bet you are thinking something must have gone amiss! Five'll get you ten that you'd be right!
....Of all the floral pieces to literally disintegrate, it had to be those belonging to the Mother of the Bride! While the pictures were being taken, pink petal by pink petal were littering a trail from the dining to the living rooms. It was not the way she wished this day to begin. She didn't want to be upset, let alone angry. In the end, cooler heads prevailed and the piece which was to be worn on her wrist was converted to a corsage to be worn at her heart.

Almost before we knew, it was time for the small tour bus to arrive that had been hired to transport the Wedding Party to the Village Green. It was five minutes before 3pm. The drive to the hall would take about 20 minutes. That would allow the photographer about 40 minutes to shoot some pictures of the Bridal Party arriving before the scheduled 4pm wedding. Also waiting would be the videographer.
....When it rains, it pours they say. Where was the bus? Finally at 10 minutes past 3, the bus appeared. Our house is on a street that crosses city lines. In our town it has one name and in next town another. The driver was at the same house number on the wrong end of the street. (Right pew, wrong church.)

Soon enough the bus was loaded and the Wedding Party was on its way to an awaiting Wedding.

No.372

1 comment:

Kathleen said...

Hello Mike,

I am in the process of reading your post right now. However, before doing anything else I wanted to say THANK YOU for your words of encouragement on my recent "fear of cancer" post. Things are looking better.