The Wedding of the Century!

Well, yes, it's taken me some time to recover from the bash. Also, things I have learned today: It's useful to open the can of beer when you are planning to drink out of it. (Yeah, well, it's been a long, dull week.)

So last Saturday we got Saint Tiger Lily and the Boss married off. It was glorious! And the ropes they used to drag The Boss to the altar perfectly matched the bridesmaid's dresses...I love these little touches in a wedding, don't you?

No, really. What a gorgeous day. The weather was chilly, but beautiful...bright blue sky, white fleecy clouds, threat of snow...all right, it wasn't THAT chilly.

And the Tiger Lily was the absolute ultimate in gorgeous. Of course, if you start out seventeen feet tall with a stunning figure and miles of gorgeous wavy hair, you could probably wear an old trenchcoat to get married, but this dress was totally amazing. Heavily embroidered with a corset back and a fishtail train...just unbelievably beautiful. And The Boss was equally gorgeous...well, he's a handsome guy to begin with, and I am of the mind that men always look their best in black tie anyway. And their mothers were gorgeous, and their fathers were gorgeous, and the flower girls were adorable (too young to be gorgeous), and the bridesmaids were gorgeous...moss green satin, a color that looks absolutely wonderful on Sarah, who was...um, gorgeous. Do I seem, perhaps, to be overworking the word a bit? Well, it was gorgeous. So there.

They were married outdoors at an inn on the water on Long Island, with dancing boats on the water. Then we went to a wonderful huge steakhouse/golf club for the reception, which had something I suggest for every restaurant in the whole world, which was an outdoor fireplace. For us smokers, this was absolutely brilliant. Think of it! Rather than shivering by the dustbins (usually the smoker's unhappy lot), you strolled out to the chairs in front of the huge woodburning fireplace. I can't imagine how you'd do this in Manhattan, but it was wonderful and I think all restauranteurs should look into it right away. The only thing missing (about which several of us commented) was ingredients for making S'mores. Well, there was all that wedding cake. I still think a tasteful tray of graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows (with a nice ginger jar of sticks for the marshmallows) would have been a great idea.

And oh, my God, the food. A raw bar, which is only my favorite thing to eat in the whole sidereal universe...piles and piles and piles of raw clams and oysters and shrimp and lobster (the last two cooked, of course) and sushi (which I ignored because I don't care for sushi - raw fish I love with a passion, but I'm not much on rice). But who cared about sushi with all those clams and oysters and shrimp and lobster...not to mention the yummy trays of little hot goodies that kept coming by, particularly the foie gras thingy on the toast (I may perhaps have looked a little eager on that particular one, hanging on to the waitress' ankle as I was...).

Then we got to dinner, and the filet mignon...well, the whole thing was spectacular as hell.

And what great people! Just the most intelligent, amusing group you could find anywhere...including a lovely French-Canadian gent who turned out to be staying with my old boss from the UN! (Hey, get old enough, meet enough people, things connect up in the oddest ways.)

In case it hasn't become clear yet, I had the most wonderful time. I do have a minor quibble...I think Tiger Lily and The Boss have relatives who are much too tall. I was making my manners to the parents, of course, and everywhere I looked, I kept seeing a forest of waistlines...and, which was even more upsetting, none of them weighed more than 12 pounds apiece. You want to see a pair of knock your eye dead gorgeous women, the mothers of the bride and groom were something to look at - each of them eight feet tall and 106 pounds. Amazing.

And I even managed to please my child with my choice of clothing. I originally had three choices, one of which was a suit, which I sure as hell wasn't wearing for a Saturday wedding (oh, yeah, sorry - had to go to the office today). The other two were perfectly serviceable cocktail dresses, except both of them screamed, "Hi! I'm a dumpy middle aged woman who hasn't bought a cocktail dress in 20 years! Glad to meet you!" (Yes, I know I haven't, in fact, bought a cocktail dress in about 20 years, but it's not necessarily how I wish to be seen by perfect strangers. All these two dresses needed was a fox fur stole with the snout and feet dangling down.) So I finally had a brilliant thought and hauled out my black and white taffeta Audrey Hepburn dress and wore it with a red cardigan with jeweled buttons (thanks for the loan, Sarah!) and red flats - this last because I hate, hate, hate doing all the standing about chatting one does at weddings in heels, and that dress is really the wrong length to wear anything but flats (although given the attack of the 12 foot mothers, I really, really bemoaned the lack of heels for a minute there - then it occurred to me that I'd have to wear 14 inch heels to get anywhere near face to face with them and quit worrying about it - and had comfy feet all night).

So I looked lovely, even though I had another thought about an outfit, but I'm saving it for Sarah's next elegant occasion...it involves a microminiskirt with split crotch panties. And of course my Wonderbra. Naturally I'm saving this little number for my kid - I wouldn't EVER do a thing like that to the Tiger Lily! (Mainly because she'd never feed me again...and I couldn't live with that at all.)

I must say it did occur to me just then that it's really pretty silly to worry about what you're wearing to a wedding (unless it's yours). Obviously one doesn't turn up in jeans, but face it - people are looking at the bride, to begin with. And then, I have never in my life known a wedding that didn't come equipped with odd relatives wearing the gown that turned up in the mothballs in the attic or ancient ladies in orthopedic shoes. You're bound to look better than that no matter what the hell you put on. And if it's going to be a really dull wedding - you know, your fifteenth cousin marrying the guy who got such a good job at the gas station (reception at the Moose Lodge!) - well, what the hell. Go with the split crotch panties. You never wanted to see any of those relatives again anyway.

God bless the Tiger Lily and The Boss - they throw one HELL of a party!

Love, Wendy