3-inch heels and Catholic weddings don’t mix Pt. 2

The day before, Bride, Groom’s Mom (let’s call her MarlboroRed) and I did a quick dry run of how things were supposed to go, since there is quite the protocol for the church entrance.  I played the role of BoB, Marlboro was the Groom and the Bride was herself. After we did our practice I leaned over to the Bride and asked if there was a rehearsal. No rehearsal and both of us were completely confused by who entered w. whom.

Here’s how it was supposed to go: After the bridal couple and parents enter, then the godfather of the wedding enters with a family member (me) and then the godmother of the wedding with another family member, followed by any close family members. Then the guest filter in grabbing seats wherever, kinda like this:

Here’s how it went: Groom, Bride, MoB all entered as expected. It was my turn to enter, only they never told me who the godfather was (I thought it  was one of the groom’s brothers, neither of which I met).  I figured it was one of the 2 dudes w. the boutonniere, but I wasn’t about to grab the arm of a random Colombian and walk down the aisle.  I wisely stay back and entered alone, behind my other cousin, Tweety and her bf.

Once we were in we grabbed the first seats we could, but they were too far back.  The priest is giving some sort of benediction and people are still playing hot potato w/ the seats, going back and forth across the aisle. So the three of us joined in and crept up the to front of the church, with me trying to inconspicuous but failing due to my bright red dress.Tweety and I again moved up to the front row to sit w. MoB and BoB. The entire time I’m thinking how dead I would have been if this were an American wedding.

While the guests were playing musical chairs. BoB, Bride and Groom are supposed to complete a complicated maneuver that involves stacking hands on top of each other to signify giving the bride away, which Bride and I had practiced but the boys never had. What ended up happening was BoB holding out the Bride’s hand with the Groom just standing there not taking it. BoB ended up sorta flinging the Bride’s hand toward the Groom as if saying “Here! Take it, take her!”

Once we were all settled, I started paying attention to my cousins. I’ve only gone to one Catholic Mass in my life and that was years ago. I had no idea what to do, other than to cross myself when they did. Well, I couldn’t even get that right, as not only do you make the big sign of the cross, there’s a lil tiny cross you make over your forehead.  And since I never knew when the crossing was coming, I was always a second or two behind. I finally just gave up on it altogether.

And then there was communion. For some reason I thought Communion was delivery and not take out, meaning you sat in your seat and they came w. the wafer and you took it. I had an internal debate as to whether or not I would partake and decided that I would for two reasons: a) I didn’t want stick out more than I already was and b) I hadn’t eaten since 6 and it was now 1.30. I was starving and  wanted that goddamned cracker!

Well as I was standing trying to decide what to do, I noticed people queueing up. I leaned over to Tweety and asked what was going on.  It was the Communion line. They didn’t deliver. Crap. By now the line was long and getting to it would be more of a spectacle than a wafer was worth. Plus, Tweety wasn’t taking it either, so I figured if someone from the family abstained, I would be cool.

Meanwhile, in between the crossing, communion, prayers and vows, we were standing then sitting then standing again. Halfway through the service, my cute strappy heels ceased being cute and became devices of torture . I wanted to sit out the rest of the service, but again, red dress and being in the front friggin’ row I sucked it up and thought of the aguardiente that awaited me at the reception.

By the time we got the reception my head was pounding, my neck aching and my feet felt like they were being stabbed. I wanted food, but first came the champagne toast and cake, with the food coming and hour or so later.  The reception eventually dwindled down to the 2 families, each at their own lil table. MarlboroRed , who LOVES me, dragged me over to her table and started introducing me to her family (she has 11 brothers and sisters, most of which were there) as a reporter in Washington. I tried explaining that I wasn’t exactly a reporter, but I can barely explain my job in English, much less in Spanish to a table full of drunk Colombians. I went w. what Marlboro said. I’m sure they all think I work for the Washington Post now.

Marlboro made sure I met her oldest son, since he had lived in the states for a few years. Other than that we didn’t have anything in common, so I was just sitting there sipping aguardiente and trying to figure a nice way to get back to my table. Thankfully my cousins started calling me over. When I called MommaPithy to give her the rundown on the wedding, she told me that MarlboroRed wants me for her son. As in, she WANTS me to marry him and had every intention of hooking us up at the wedding. MommaPithy decided to leave that tidbit of info out before I left. Had there been less booze at the table I’m sure Marlboro would have made her son and I dance or something, but thankfully I was spared.

Sadly, my feet weren’t so lucky.


~ by pithycomments on August 5, 2009.

One Response to “3-inch heels and Catholic weddings don’t mix Pt. 2”

  1. That video? Just made my life.

    “You’ll have to do it with this boy Lane. You’ll just to have to do it. If you’re lucky like me, you’ll only have to do it once.”

    Gilmore Girls makes everything better.

    for the record, Mrs. Kim and MommaPithy were separated at birth.

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