Wedding Reception / Waffle House

This weekend, Stick and I went to North Carolina for his brother’s wedding. I was pretty apprehensive about meeting the extended Stick clan, but it worked out well. If you’ll be meeting your signifigant other’s family in the near future, let me suggest a wedding. Someone else’s, I mean.

Stick has been talking about Waffle House and their amazing hash browns since, oh, November so that’s where we went for breakfast. I now know that I can bring Stick to near-orgasmic bliss by feeding him half-cooked latkes. And to think I spent so much money on lingerie.

I did get all teared up at the wedding. Why? Is it single-girl blues? Is it that dreaded biological clock? Worried, I ask myself if I think babies are gross, and I answer myself that they couldn’t be grosser. No ticking here. Then I ask myself if I want to get married, and I picture myself with a younger Pierce Brosnin, who lets me decorate our mansion on his credit cards and likes to talk about dead Romans. Maybe there’s a slight tick somewhere?

As I gave this a little more thought, and another drink, Stick’s stepmon came up said “Don’t worry, hon, the next time you’ll have to see all these people will be your wedding to Stick!” I smiled, and we drank to that.

I would have analyzed it more, but there was an open bar. And a very nice fellow who told me he’s not a big race fan so could I point out the major players so he doesn’t make an ass of himself? I let him know that he found the only other non-Nascar watcher in the room. (I even told him about thinking the race would be over after the cars made it around the loop once.)

And then there was Stick in his tuxedo! He’d gone to dress with his brothers, so the last time I saw him was more of a “Where are my socks?” and “Can I use your shampoo?” mode. Then I saw him all dressed up and hot and… ok, that’s enough. (In case you’re wondering, I wore a pretty blue dress that I got in clothes-swap with a stripper.)

When I called my folks after we landed back in Hartford, my sister asked how I was doing, and I said I had a really great time. There was a pause, and then I added the neccessary qualifier. “No, really, Bethie, I’m not being sarcastic,”

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