It’s All In My Head

I went to a wedding yesterday. Don’t know why. It wasn’t for anyone I really knew or cared about, and I had a bad feeling it would be a bad idea. I didn’t really want to go either. But my mm kept asking me if I was going with her, and I figured she wanted company. And besides ( this is a minute reason at best), the person getting hitched used to do me, my sister’s and my mum’s hair back when I was an ickle kid. I remember playing round the young girl’s shop before or after I was done, how they had to put an extra stool on the chair when I wanted to wash my hair, cos I was way too short. I also remember everyone’s delight when they realized that I didn’t need a boost at all anymore. She had a bunch of old magazines, including my first Vanity Fair, where a woman named Ivana Trump was on the cover. I read that mag almost every time thinking she was ridiculously rich, and (even at six), thinking that her house was expensive but unattractive. I know who she is now, or was. I used to feel so cool cos every time my sis and I relaxed our hair, she would cry from application to wash and I wouldn’t even flinch, just to prove that I was tougher.
Anyway, that was more than 10-12 years ago, the woman left hair I guess and became a pastor. She was marrying another pastor. I gave up trying to guess how old she must be. I wore my grad dress (my belly still ruins that lovely piece of cloth) and heels and hopped into the car, still wondering if I should make a run for it. This was at 9. The trip blew. My mum and the driver had an unnecessary aversion to the AC, and the smoke eventually gave me my usual long journey headache. I was not happy. We got there, 2hrs later, and … we were still early. It was all them small but well done Protestant places. Obviously a new site, with freshly tiled floors, shockingly new split mini-ACs (didn’t feel a damn thing though), new-ish instruments, and as usual, what I feel is an unnecessarily well done area on stage for the pastor, his wife and God-knows-who else. Not bad. What really struck me was the choir. Bunch of young, good-looking women, none of them possibly older than 22. The ones in the front row, 3 of them made me think of the Christian Jewels in “Saved”. They were the best looking, and when we started doing praise/worship to kill time, they were the ones with the mikes. Obviously friends, one of them led and the other two, gave backing vocals, looking happy as hell with their compliments.
At that point, I remembered school. Babcock. First of many nostalgic flashbacks that day. I remembered worship, during the evening, and the dull hymns, how there was almost always something more interesting to do.
The bride was late, 2hrs, and I’m sorry to say, I couldn’t see why. It was a tiny weding compared to the very few I’ve seen or been to. The groom wore this … brown suit. And he looked unserious. Sorry. The bride looked happy. That’s all I’m going to say. It took another 2 ½ hours to end, and I almost lost my mind. They forced the couple to kiss, and I was glad all the guests blocked me when THAT happened. The pastor, obviously friends with them, made fun of the guy and what he felt was an enthusiasm for the wedding night… I was embarrassed for them and swore that no-one was going to get the opportunity to use me for laughs at my wedding.
Yes, I did what every single person ends up doing at a wedding, no matter how unromantic it was. I thought of mine. I didn’t get all mushy though. If anything I got irritable. The couple only met 8-9 months ago. What, were they desperate??? I’m very principled about some things. And a less than 2 year courtship is asking for trouble. I have a lot to say on the whole issue, but that’s for another day.
The trip back was hellish. Nuff said. We didn’t have time to go for the reception. What was the point???? I don’t go to these events to eat “purge-worthy” food, but still, coming back hungry from a wedding is… un heard of.
At church today, I kept getting tear-jerked. Not sure what my problem was, they were for silly reasons. During some unkown dude’s thanksgiving, or when we hit some line in a hymn, or just a spontaneous combustion.

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