Post the Sixty-Eighth: In Which I Fulfill A Promise: Part II

Gentle Reader, if I’m not mistaken, I left you just as I was snuggling into the couch cushions, after I was checked on by the Groom, who was making sure that the living room light was on for a reason. After he left, I quickly got up and shut the light off. I was awfully embaressed, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

Allow six or eight hours of slumber, or some higher or lower number as the case warrants. Nobody got much sleep that night, but nobody got less than the Bride and the Groom.

The Bride was the first to publically admit that she was awake. About eight o’clock in the morning, she was passing through the room in which I was passed out. I started, glanced – the lovely lady gave me a wink, and proceeded to the “Downstairs House” to make breakfast for her faithful minions. That is to say, the bridal party and those who were setting up.  An hour or two passed; I was able to suck sustenance from a cigarette or six, and by the time everyone arose, the bride kindly took me to where the coffee was kept.

Coffee

The Only Part Of This Unbalanced Breakfast

Her mother apparently drinks coffee all day and night, so the large mug I received – holding about two and a half ordinary cups – was most sufficient. Once everyone was halfway human, the work of the day began.

The night before, it transpired that there was no one besides the Bride to coordinate the work of the day. The Officiant and I had agreed to take that monumental task on – as the only two queers present, I guess there was an onus on us? Maybe we were her fairy godfathers? Maybe that joke has never been made before? – at any rate, we took the job on. The Bride and I made a list, and at least sixteen times throughout the day she added tasks to my list. I was pleased; there was a lot to do, and everyone knows that the day of a wedding, one has to ensure that the bridal couple are ecstatic. It’s just what one does.

Couple

I forewent my facial treatment that day, because it takes twenty minutes and is a little embarrassing, and instead set to work. I would lengthily describe all that happened, but you don’t want to hear that minutiae. Suffice it to say that there were a number of volunteers lined up, and when they were directed to me, I’d look at my list and try to delegate. I’m terrible at delegation. I prefer to work as an insular whirlwind. Therefore, when strangers are all “What can I do to help set up the wedding of someone who I know rather better than you do?” I’m all, well, let’s look at the list.

For the most part, folks were cheerful and compliant. There was a sad job on the list, though – hand trimming, probably with a pair of scissors (The lawnmower was right out, and the weed-eater couldn’t get in there without destroying the wild roses), the grass in and around the wild roses in front of which the wedding was to take place. Several people asked what they could do, and I always pointed out that it was a sucky job, and therefore there are other options, before telling them to do it. People kept finding other places to be, rather than doing that. Well.

Eventually, this young gentleman who had a BABY STRAPPED TO HIS CHEST-

Baby

-took care of it, cheerfully, then proceeded to edge the parking area with the weed-eater, get extra chairs out of scary garage attics, and generally did all the things that I didn’t have time for and that were the WORST JOBS and that needed to be done, and he was friendly, polite, and cheerful. I didn’t learn until later that this was the Bride’s brother; he thanked me for doing “so much to make his sister’s wedding work.”

So that was a surprise.

Eventually, after nine or ten hours of labor and no food for most of it (eventually, one of the bridal minions chased me down around five or six and made me eat – typically I won’t at this sort of event) we actually finished setting the whole thing up,  and were done two hours ahead of schedule. I was surprised; I knew the wedding wasn’t until seven, but I… it’s been years since there weren’t emergencies requiring rewriting the schedule, hamfisting things until the very last possible minute. I was taken aback. While Miss P. took a nap (she’d spent the day doing the final stitches and applying the swarovski crystals to the gown) I… pretended to be busy. I met another gay gentleman – as one straight guy mentioned, people were practically surrounded by gay guys! There were, like, three of us!

Gay

He was a nice fellow, and came on a little strong, which I’m sure was karma, because I presumably had done the same thing to the Officiant the night before, as you can read in Post the Sixty-Seventh.

The service itself? Geeky and Glorious. At the last minute, I was asked to cover the music during the ceremony as well, with a laptop and attached speakers. Dang. I was not prepared, but I managed. The bridal march was from Game of Thrones, as I recall; the recessional – which I was a little late with – the bride’s mother shouted “Play the Music” during the moment of confusion – the recessional was the Imperial March. The Officiant’s service – so much science, so much geekery, so much fandom. If there was any classic geekery that was left out, it was not through lack of research or trying.

During the vows – which Bride and Groom had themselves written, Officiant teared up. Groom had stolen Bride’s opening line, and when her turn came, she said so. A moment to compose herself, and then she delivered her own vows. The kiss; they were wed; it was one of the most fitting, beautifully performed weddings that I’ve witnessed. It was fitting, suitable, perfectly matched. Most weddings that I’ve done, you can tell that they aren’t going to work before they start. These two? I think they’ve got a shot, and more than a decent one, at that. I’m a little teary-eyed writing this, I don’t mind admitting, thinking of how well-suited to one another they are.

Wedding

Photo of the bride and groom, and was donated by Miss P. If anyone objects, down it goes.

Honestly, I know that this isn’t nearly as satisfying a narrative as it ought to be, but I was interrupted while writing it by crab, veal, and wine. How can such an one as I refuse? And so this half of the tale is disjointed. Suffice it to say that they were well wed, that Miss P. cockblocked the gentleman who was waaaay into hooking up with me at the wedding, and that we safely broke down the decor and buffet. We were home by 3:30 a.m. a week ago, Saturday.

 

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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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