My sister made such a beautiful bride.
Lisa officially got her MRS degree over the weekend!! I had no idea a wedding could be so much fun, or that a bride could be so beautiful and classy. Or so utterly drama-less. There were only a few unplanned excitements:
In the morning, we all went in to get our hair and make-up done. I took great sadistic pleasure in watching the hair dresser take a look at my afro (hey, we were instructed to let our hair dry naturally and not put anything in it), sigh loudly, and turn up the heat on the flat iron. We were all supposed to get a similar look: pulled back into a twisty sort of 'do. Very sleek and elegant. And that's what we all got -- except Amy. Her hair looked like a goddamn roller coaster ride, a beehive with curls at the bottom.
"It's...nice," she said when the hair dresser spun her around to look in the mirror. We all nodded, that secret sort of sister nod that says, "Don't worry. We agree that it looks like shit. We'll start over in the bathroom at home." And we did.
Later, at the church, Amy and I were going over the speech we were giving at the reception (notice that none of these antics involve the bride...that's because Lisa was born to be a bride; absolutely none of the day's drama directly involves her. AMAZING. Guess who just got the job as my wedding planner??). Anyway, when we were going over the speech, Dad popped his head into the room we were in.
"Hey, I wanted to talk to you guys about the order of speeches. My speech is going to be more sober, so I'd like to go first."
Amy and I sort of looked at each other. "Uh, Dad," Amy said, "You're giving a speech? Are you supposed to do that?"
"Somebody said I was," Dad said. He totally started that rumor himself. Dad's are funny, poignant people.
The wedding ceremony was perfect. Perfect. Fairy-tale. My sister was exquisite. Her dress was twinkling and her face was so bright and beautiful, like a Disney princess. It sort of made me want to take her back, but I didn't want to make a scene.
At the beginning of the reception, the bridal party was going to come in together, announced by the DJ. All of us were there except Amy, who'd ridden separately with her boyfriend. As one of the maids of honor, we couldn't really start the processional without her.
"I didn't expect this sort of behavior from Amy," my brand new brother-in-law said. "Who-li, maybe. But not Amy."
He knows me well already, and I haven't even cut the tags off of him yet.
As we were waiting for Amy to arrive, they brought us drinks. When Amy got there a few minutes later, everyone put their beer and wine on the table and lined up. Except me. Please. I was not about to waste good alcohol that my dad was paying for. I tilted my head back and took my remaining half-cup of Chardonnay like a shot. I did an involuntary full-body shivver and then got in line. Fellow Buckeyes around the world cheered.
Later, after dinner and speeches and mingling and cake, I went back to our table of relatives to beckon cousin Kim to the dance floor. As soon as I reached the table, though, polka music started blaring, and Uncle Bob popped up from the table like a piece of toast. "I'll polka with you, Julie!" he screamed.
I should have known better, really. Uncle Bob's version of the polka included turning around in rapid circles while shooting my arm up and down like an industrial paper cutter. We must have looked like a dancing cyclone, feet moving rapidly like one of those drills they do in football practice. I was afraid we would crash into another couple and all break at least one bone. But it's not like I could excuse myself; Uncle Bob was having the time of his life and besides, by this point a small crowd had gathered and was watching us in awe.
By the end of the song (my GOD "Roll Out the Barrel" is a long one), I was panting and pouring sweat. "Uncle Bob," I panted, "You've been practicing, haven't you?!"
Serious as hell, Uncle Bob said, "No, I've never done that dance before! It's all about rhythm!"
This whole experience was captured on camera and, thank you Twin, video.
We danced well into the night, at one point my mother dancing out into the middle of a huge circle of college kids, amidst cheers and cat calls. Later, she claimed, "It was the ice-tea!!!"
You guys, it made me sad as hell, letting my big sister go like that. But she's happy as hell. And, at the moment, in Vail, Colorado, that lucky bitch.