Sonnet 87

What follows is a description of my High School Friend B’s wedding back in 2003, written the day after the wedding. It has acquired legendary status in the IP-WordNerd households, so after posting about IP’s roommate’s wedding, I thought I’d follow up with this little gem. Comments from 2007 WordNerd in italics:

Yesterday, IP and I attended the Wedding of the Century. A detailed account follows.

I arrived at IP’s at around 2:15pm after having spent the half-hour before I left my house desperately searching for a pair of shoes that went with my dress. I finally found a decent pair thanks to my mom, but in the end, it’s not like anyone noticed my shoes. Anyway, I was looking pretty good with my strapless black dress, teardrop necklace, and open-toe shoes when I arrived at IP’s. And he was looking good in a pair of nice slacks, a blue shirt, great jacket, and a nice tie. I swear, IP looks so good in a suit. When I first saw him in a suit at his defense, I would have jumped him if we had been alone. And he wasn’t defending in the next ten minutes.

(I’ve gotten used to seeing IP in a suit, but he still looks damn good. And I still maintain that I would’ve had my way with him back on December 17, 2002, if he hadn’t been on his way to becoming Dr. IP that day.)

Once at IP’s (a wonderful apartment he shared with an absentee roommate), he signed B’s card, we packed up what we needed, jumped into my mom’s Explorer, and off we went to Dexter and the wedding. We arrived at the church with about fifteen minutes left until the ceremony started. IP couldn’t help observing how many pick-up trucks were in the parking lot. Gives you a sense of the crowd, huh? As we watched people arrive from out last-pew vantage point within the church, IP and I talked about various things, including the salaries of faculty and staff at the University of Michigan. IP was pissed that a snooty postdoc makes $36,000 (Note to IP: Remember when that seemed like an faraway sum?) when all she does is read all day and leave at 5pm. It’s a cushy, three-year postdoc for a woman who’s never even published one paper or been to a conference. We’re guessing people from Harvard don’t have to publish or attend conferences.

Anyway, I saw High School Friend K arrive and said hi to her, saw High School Friend L arrive, but didn’t get to say hi to her. Then the ceremony began at about 3:10p,—Michigan time, according to IP (Note: U of M classes start at :10 past the hour or half-hour). It was a very short ceremony, but there was a lot of crap about having to submit to your husband, hellfire for divorcing, and all that wonderful Baptist thunder. The responsibility of B’s husband is to love her, but her obligation is to submit to and obey him. I gagged. Good thing IP and I decided to sit in the last pew, so no one saw my stern look of disapproval. Well, maybe IP did, but he should be used to it by now. After the word “submit,” I listened half-heartedly, amazed that B would ever agree to a ceremony like this. She’s religious, but she’s bossy as hell and wants her way all the time. She usually gets her way with her new husband, too—he’s not what you call assertive or self-assured. IP and I were both more into observing the crowd around us; instead of bowing our heads in prayer, we looked curiously about us and watched people mutter a prayer. IP and I had no reason to bow our heads—he was raised Jewish, I was raised Catholic.

Once the ceremony was over, we waited until B and her husband dismissed us, with B’s husband telling me that he thought I wasn’t going to come (I sent in my freaking RSVP, didn’t I?), and B thanking IP for coming before bursting out, “Oh, I shouldn’t call you just IP, right?” I didn’t hear that, though–IP told me later what she had said. (IP has this thing, then and now, that he didn’t go to graduate school for seven years to be called Mr. IP. I once told B about it.) IP and I headed outside, met up with K, L, and their husbands, saw the newlyweds off as they clambered into a “Michigan Historical Car” to get their pictures taken, then the rest of us headed to the reception hall.

It didn’t take long to get to the reception hall. (If I recall correctly, I ripped out of the church parking lot, startling IP; by the way, the reception was held at a union hall, typical of Michigan weddings.) By 4:05pm we were there, sitting at a table near the head table. K, L, and their husbands caught up with us, sat at our table, and we began talking. The guys got beer, the women got Diet Pepsi (K barely drinks, L didn’t want to, and I had a race today [the day I wrote this, obviously, not April 7, 2007.]), we had some small snacks, and we started talking. IP of course started to get into trouble right away with L’s husband. K’s husband joined in, and before we knew it, K, L, and I had three obnoxious significant others sitting at our table, bugging the hell out of us. After a while, we started to notice how long the bridal party was taking, and next thing you know, it’s been an hour and a half since the ceremony ended. (It was at this point that I decided to share with everyone that B had told me she was going to sex up her new husband on the way to the reception—they had been saving themselves for marriage. I grossed everyone out with that thought.) Everyone at the table started getting ornery, everyone was hungry, and discussion of the ceremony was not kind (at least from the women [the men seemed content with it]). Finally, at 5:45pm, the bridal party showed up to begin the reception. (The bride and groom showed up to the tune of “Rock and Roll [Part II]“—by contrast, I envision my new husband and I entering the reception—at the Michigan Theater or the Michigan League—to the tune of “The Masked Ball” from the Much Ado About Nothing soundtrack. But that’s just me.)

They cut the cake, they were calling out the names of couple who signed the registry to kiss (IP and I signed on separate lines [and this was well before we canoodled at weddings]), they called tables up to the buffet with TV trivia (guess the 80s TV theme song), dinner was a riot (fried chicken, salad, mashed potatoes, and sandwich fixings including Wonder bread—you can imagine I didn’t eat much), then the dancing started. B pulled me out for the bridal toss (I didn’t even attempt to catch the bouquet), IP went out for the garter toss but made no effort, either. We didn’t dance, even though K tried to make us dance (they asked all married couples to dance, and K told us we should dance since we were married—IP and I promptly looked at one another and asked when this had happened). We spent any time alone at the table talking about Colorado, Kenya, what to do this summer, and dishing out hypotheticals (“Well, if I ever get married, this is what I’ll do. . .”). While the bride and groom danced, we made plans with everyone at our table to get together. At least I got to catch up with K and L. B, though, didn’t even come over to our table to thank us for coming. Her husband did, but he seemed pretty embarrassed to do so—after all, he barely knows any of us. How’d he end up having to deal with us? Poor guy.

(B’s husband is shy and doesn’t really speak up at all. He muttered a few words to us, but I was sitting away from where he was standing and heard nothing. IP, though, heard what is now considered a classic wedding line: “Drink more, guys—they’re raping us on the pop.” Oh, he’s classy!)

Anyway, all in all, it was an okay wedding. B had a beautiful dress on, I’ll give her props for that. I started to get very bored, and pretty annoyed at the antics of IP and L’s husband (K’s husband wasn’t that bad at all, really). L’s husband kept on taking pictures of me when I wasn’t looking, and IP kept on encouraging him. (I avoid getting those two together, which isn’t hard anymore.) By the time 8:30pm rolled around, all of us were ready to go, and when we saw B break away from the dancing during “YMCA,” we ran over and said our goodbyes. B insisted on a picture before we left, so all three of us dropped our purses into our guys’ hands to join B in front of the camera. While they took our picture, the three guys linked arms and danced to “YMCA.” I didn’t see it, but apparently it happened. (But really, you aren’t supposed to link arms and do Rockette kicks during “YMCA”—you’re supposed to use your arms, dorks.) IP had a bit of fun, so I don’t feel so bad for him having to endure it.

(Deleted part about what happened after the wedding. There might be minors reading.)

However, all of this decided me. If I don’t elope, I’m having a very small wedding if I get married.