Even before the wedding began, I had already unfairly decided that I wasn’t going to have a good time. Thank god I was wrong. My initial feeling was based on the knowledge that certain agitating people were going to be there — a very tangible reminder of why we moved under cover of darkness for the last Bancroft farm excursion — but there were enough normal people to dilute any creepiness.
The ceremony was short and sweet. The food was the best I’ve had in weeks, although my gradual recovery from viral gastroenteritis meant that I could only have half of the portions served. The company at the dinner table was friendly and open enough to address everyone sitting (Tolstoy wrote well about such a difficulty in Anna Karenina when he describes “a small table with persons present, like the steward and the architect, belonging to a completely different world, struggling not to be overawed by an elegance to which they were unaccustomed, and unable to sustain a large share in the general conversation”). Aside from an idiotic analogy about asparagus, the speeches were generally well-written; not too trite, and all the more poignant from the emotion with which they were spoken.
Aaron was there as my wingman, ensuring a good time. Jenn was there as my date, making the guys jealous. I even saw Christine, although we never had a chance to talk. Apparently, I missed every time she waved at us, so she may have thought that I was ignoring or avoiding her, which may be why she flicked my ear as she was walking by my table. I still feel bad enough about missing her last birthday party.
Until dinner there was an open bar, with Corona and even Guinness on tap, as well as a strawberry margarita machine that could make them like smoothies. After dinner was the dancing, and by the time the we were through a dozen or so songs, it was already late, so we headed home.