While back I was coerced in attending a cousin’s wedding. In Dallas. Not favorite place. Not a bad place, either, but not where I would opt to spend time. However, for the sake of propriety, there I was suited up in a Tux. Big whup.
However, between Austin and Dallas, a traditional spot to rest, stretch my legs and get gas, there’s “West, Texas.” In the middle of East Texas, or North Texas, or whatever. Stopped at the Czech Stop. Got groceries, liked baked goods.
On the shelf: pickled eggs and next to that? Pickled Pigs Feet.
I just can’t begin to make this stuff up.
Rehearsal Dinner:
One of my cousins will never forgive her future in-law for making my cousin follow my uncle when speaking. My uncle can be smooth, gifted, funny and targeted – which he was. Opened with a lawyer joke and finished all Old Testament. My poor cousin, having to follow that.
That branch of the family tree has deep, southern roots. The poor guy marrying into the family? This just adds a new level of material: originally? All from Monroe, Louisiana.
I respect and admire Louisiana. And the natives. Just don’t try to keep up with their appetites.
Overheard ad observed:
“I think my eyebrows are melting.”
“My wife said your wife said that you were wearing a suit so I had to wear a suit and tie.”
My commentary:
“I put on shoes for this?”
(Boots, really, handmade in El Paso, TX. With Tube Socks. White tube socks.)
Dallas Observed:
It’s a fairly egregious error on my part, to quietly suppress a laugh but I couldn’t do it. After the wedding service, a tall woman hobbled past – on – I cannot make this up – 8 inch stiletto heels. Had to be.
Did what it was supposed to do, I looked. Stared, mouth hanging open.
I conferred with family, might’ve been six-inch heels. Still.
Out-the-door:
My uncle – mother’s older brother – in the Pacific NorthWest – one of his kids came down for the wedding. Another cousin of mine. Libra.
Back-up: read the Libra horoscope.
“Yeah, that guy I was seeing? He thought I was going to be his Mountain Woman, you know, move up to his cabin and live off the land.”
The implication was that the romance was over.
“So what are ’boutique horoscopes’ anyway?”
gasp…snort…wheeze…guffaw…You in a Tux?? The mind boggles. Just as unlikely, I suppose, as me in a bridesmaid’s dress or a cocktail dress. Hell would freeze over first. And 6-inch stiletto shoes? Only if one is into medieval torture. Looks ridiculous, not sexy.
I had to laugh. It wasn’t kind. Halfway through the reception, my monotone was, “Can we go yet?”