Wedding Review.4

The wedding blessing began, Father, you have made the bond of marriage a holy mystery. True words in the name of the Lord? Truer were never spoken. But wait, lest we forget the blatancy of marriage, the drunken bursts of color that throb just beneath the fondant. In this sacrament, the soul is worn like a veil, a pellucid, shimmering veil, beyond which it’s all BAM and POW and multi-colored panels.

Crunch time: the ceremony was underway and still no sign of desserts. A rumor began to circulate that the driver had crashed and half the tarts she was carrying were destroyed. What are we going to feed the rest of the guests? This we asked as we walked between the tables and poured both water and wine.

The groom was a giant—oafishly sturdy—and during the toasts, jokes were made about having to live in his shadow. By contrast, the bride was brittle, unappreciative, more tightly wound than most. A question over the mechanics of consummation hung in the air.

One group of guests became hysterical when, after calling a cab, it was slow to arrive. Arguments started, tears began to flow. They somehow became convinced that they'd be stranded at this wedding forever. Had the mysterious nature of marriage robbed them of reason? I’ve experienced the same sinking feeling myself.

Late that night, as we were tearing down the aftermath, I went outside in the moonlight to throw some things away. I opened the trashcan and screamed as a raccoon, snarling, leapt out. Its fur grazed my skin. This, for me, was the night’s central mystery: how did the raccoon get inside that lidded can?

Another mystery: why were there so many leftover tarts?

I went home with three, and they were lemon curd.