9/02/2006

Weddings are awesome

The Good Times Fishing and Hunting Club is ripe with the smell of pot. A woman in her late fifties, whom I have never seen before in my life, cries at the indignity of my parents' decision to cut my sister off after she'd fallen up a small set of stairs in her haste to get to the dance floor. "Megan! Megan!" the lady cries. "Megan! I saw that step jump out at her! There was nothing she could have done!" she explains. All I can do is nod in agreement and wonder how she knows my name.
My second cousin looks like he belongs in ZZ Top - only the British version (whatever that means). He sits at our table discussing the complexities of the universe, or maybe he is just talking about nearly forgetting to walk his daughter down the aisle. I am too drunk to pay attention to any one conversation for more than a few minutes. By this point in time I have imbibed enough cheap sparkling wine for three people and show no sign of stopping any time soon. I stare at the centerpiece on the table, a live Siamese Fighting Fish swimming in a small bowl, and silently debate the pros and cons of getting up to go use the washroom.
Suddenly, I am pushed and pulled up the small set of stairs and to a clearing in the middle of the dance floor. My sister stands next to me, bracing one arm against a table to ensure she remains standing. "Everybody be quiet!" Someone yells, "The bride is about to toss her bouquet." Oh. So that is what I am doing here. There are six of us in total, and I am by far the tallest. Before I even have time to blink, let alone move, it is over and my thirteen-year-old cousin has come out the victor, broken arm be damned. I guess I will not get married this year.
"Oh no!" my sister cries. "We are going to be single forever!" And she disappears back down the stairs in search of my parents to break the news to them.
A small chocolate fountain sits proudly in the middle of a small buffet table. Earlier on in the evening, the chocolate had flowed smoothly from one tier to another. Now it falls in giant glops, when it decides to fall at all. My parents must notice this too because they suddenly decide that it is time to pack us all up and take us home. Before leaving, we all scoop up a fish-centerpiece to take home with us.
Later on, in the car, we are all yelling. "Coco Chanel is a girl's name!" my sister exclaims. "You cannot name your fish Coco Chanel because he is a boy."
"I do not let stereotypical gender roles dictate my life, nor the life of Coco Chanel. Coco Chanel is free to be who he wants to be and free to love whoever he wants to love. I will not let a group of elderly, sexually repressed people decide what is right or wrong for Coco Chanel. Do you hear that Coco Chanel?" I slur, tapping the glass vase in which my prized fish swims, oblivious to the battle taking place outside of his few inches of water.
I wake-up this morning and briefly wonder why there is a fish bowl sitting on top of my dresser. It only takes me a few seconds before I remember the events of the night before. I smile at Coco Channel and tell him that we will be life long friends before I make my way out of my bedroom to start my day.

1 comment:

Dunzo said...

I enjoyed reading that!