We went to a wedding yesterday, and it only took us a forty-five minute taxi ride across town and back and a blood pressure raising fare to get there late. We ended up watching the wedding from the door when we walked in during the middle of the ceremony. Thanks Google Maps! The meter was soaring up to some ridiculous dollar amount when the cabbie finally turned it off out of pity. No one needs to spend fifty dollars on a Sunday to not go to a wedding that Google Maps said was twenty-three dollars in the wrong direction.
The last half of the ceremony was lovely, as was the food, the venue, the cake topper pictured above, and the other guests. The place was filled with babies, though. It was rife with them, which meant that I ended up with drool on my hands and cupcake mashed into the knees of my pants. I felt like a big weird freak for a little while there and spent some time eating compulsively with my butt parked in a corner, because all these women were talking about their babies' height and weight and development and when they were thinking of making more babies and saying boob a lot.
It is pretty easy these days for me settle into a bit of a blue funk crossed with a strong urge to flee when surrounded by women who appear to perform femininity so easily and whose lives revolve around the results of their having healthy uteri. I am passing through all the first anniversaries of tests and the diagnosis and the hysterectomy, and my emotions keep having their way with me. I am ready to be done with this, but the world keeps throwing babies and television commercials exhorting me to have a happy period in my face.
After inhaling half a platter of pork bits in lettuce boats and several skewers of mushrooms coated in pesto, I managed to calm down enough to stop counting all the exits and relaxed into some fine conversation with friends I had not seen in a long time and who had managed not to have procreated in the last three years.
Let's just say that I've still got some issues.
After the wedding, the Palinode (the handsome figure pictured above) and I went out for drinks with another couple, and after they dropped us off at home, I immediately trekked out again and set about getting spectacularly smashed while playing pub trivia and inquiring after the particulars of Towel Day. My quest was met with much success (for me) and also much hogging of the bed and obnoxious snoring (poor Palinode).
I did come away from my experiences yesterday with the discovery of a new talent, though. I found out that I am really good at working grubby toddler cupcake muck out of expensive dress pants. You cannot even tell that several toddlers made a beeline from the children's cupcake bar to my knees yesterday with fists of blue icing softened by body heat and spittle.
I can be called a talentless hack no more! My chest swells with this newfound confidence.