Mawwiage

Last Saturday was my brother's wedding. I was special enough to be related to the groom and be the Best Chick, I was also special enough to be forgiven for not being the perfect Best Chick. I did throw a shower with my mom and sister, but I slept through the bachelorette party (which I didn't throw), and then there was the toast.

My mental process basically goes: "La de da de da, oh, was I supposed to do something just then? La la laaaaaa!" It also goes: "Thank God I'm not the Best Dude, so I don't have to give a toast in front of an auditorium full of people who are perfectly capable of judging me. Oh, I do? Really? Tomorrow? With the people there? Fuuuuuuck."

Brother suggested I write a toast like I would blog, then not say fuck so much clean it up for mom. So I wrote it on the way from the auditorium to the rehearsal dinner. Now you get to read it.

"I'm Danger, Brother's little sister. I've known him my whole life, but I didn't have the pleasure of meeting Amanda until three years ago whe she was his date for a wedding. I first thought, "Wow, is she old enough to be out this late?" and "She's really very cute, so why's she with Brother?" Luckily for some of us [patting Brother on shoulder], making a marriage last isn't about being equally pretty. It's more about understanding you will never change your spouse, no matter how much money you offer them to do so. This marriage is going to last because of your love, friendship, desire, and commitment. Amanda, welcome to the family, I am so happy to have you as a sister. Brother, good job. Here's to your marriage, the best decision you'll ever make."

I loved this wedding. It was a great wedding. It was pretty and funny, just like the newlyweds. My brother looked over at me when he put the ring on her finger, his expression almost made me double over with laughter. And then there were the animated vows, and the minister leaving the mike on after we exited the ceremonial area, and that fly that really liked Brother's hair. Every time I looked at my mom during the ceremony I would start to tear up, and I'd have to dissociate to stay in control of my tear ducts. She was so pretty, and so fragile, and she had to persist for so long to see this wedding. She had to have extra transfusions and sit in a wheelchair to rest in order to have enough energy to walk down the aisle and visit with people, but she did what it took.

Possibly the strangest part was having my hair professionally wrangled. That happened last in the second grade. My husband seemed to enjoy seeing me in a dress and make-up and other girly stuff. He better not get his hopes up, because I don't do this stuff for just anyone.

Unless he makes an offer I can't refuse.