Sometimes you have to tear yourself away from the endless text stream coming at you from Putin and the Kremlin and get on with normal life. For me, that meant celebrating a wedding.
It was cowboy themed, which meant that the Groom and his men all wore boots, starched and ironed jeans, black hats (off in the Sanctuary), turquoise shirts and black waistcoats; the waistcoats went with the hats. They also sported shotgun shell boutonierres, and I resisted the temptation to talk about “shotgun weddings,” though the urge was strong.
The Bridesmaids came in with the Groomsmen and wore turquoise dresses to go with the Groomsmen’s shirts, they looked good, and then in came the Bride. She was nervous, along with the Groom and rightly so, for it’s no small thing to get married, but both did well and made their vows with confidence.
They got a clap at the Peace (Pax) after “You may kiss the Bride.” I was moved, good work, kids. And may God bless you with many happy and joyous years as you go through life together, with all its twists and ambushlike turns. But here’s the thing, readers, all two of you.
The Bride and Groom were binary. That’s right, the Bride was a woman and the Groom was a man. Far out, eh? And before you blast me for being a white privilege racist, that’s OK, in #TrumpsAmerica.
Your Friend,