Grammar had a good day today. It was just what she needed: a distraction from waiflike wandering in the domicile. It was the wedding of a dear pseudo-niece, held at Hycroft, a beautiful Edwardian mansion owned since 1962 by the University Women’s Club of Vancouver. (Interesting side-note: when the club purchased it, they had to pay in full, as women at that time could not hold mortgages in their own right.) Absolutely fabulous spot to hold a wedding and SRH and I enjoyed ourselves very much.
The Jaynut, Grammar’s dear old school chum from a lifetime ago and dear old friend to this date, looked so beautiful and proud and ridiculously slender in a stunning red dress. Grammar was watching her face more than the bride’s during the ceremony and it just seemed so impossible that someone who is still about 17 years old in my mind was watching her daughter get married.
Mind you, today Grammar saw many old faces with remnants of people she knew 25 or 30 years ago hiding under the wrinkles and pounds. She saw, for example, the older brother of the Jaynut, looking far too wise and grandfatherly for someone who used to tease me by endlessly calling me Lima Bean. (Long and silly story -- but he remembered!)
It was not the sort of formal reception given to speeches but instead the guests roamed the various rooms of the stately mansion, nibbling, drinking, mingling. It felt like a very relaxed and comfortable house party and I made a mental note to recommend just such a wedding to VCCGirl for when her time comes.
However, had I had opportunity to make a speech, I probably would have told the story of when the bride (let’s call her Kaitlyn) was about three years old and Grammar was visiting with her in her home. We were playing some sort of complicated game of Kaitlyn’s devising. Luckily, as Grammar was pregnant at the time and rather a victim of inertia, my role merely required me to lounge on the couch and eat the tea party food served to me. After I had dutifully consumed a particularly frangible cookie, Kaitlyn commenced a very thorough brushing off of my bosom. When I remarked after a time that I thought I was probably quite clean by now, wee Kaitlyn exclaimed, “Oh, no! You don’t want crumbs on your breasts! When I have breasts, I won’t want crumbs on them!”
So there you are, new husband of Kaitlyn: my wise advice on this your wedding day. It will behoove you to make sure your wife’s breasts are always crumb-free.