More about that wonderful weekend…

Saturday was such a perfect day that I just can’t stop talking about it. So, to resume the narrative…

After a perfect morning of bargains (2-for-1 lipstick and a free haircut) we had lunch at Atlanta Bread Company, where I used a coupon for a free bowl of soup with sandwich. I had never eaten there before, and their sandwiches were delicious! Plus it was sunny out, and I couldn’t help tossing my newly-short hair over my shoulders. Then we went shopping for maternity clothes, and that was a real eye-opener. It was just a scoping trip – we didn’t actually buy anything, but we got a lot of ideas, which to my mind made it a success. (Michael expressed amazement at this. ‘How can you be happy? We set out to buy maternity clothes; we came back without any; ergo, we failed.’) It was incredible to pick out a few really cute-looking outfits and try them on. In the dressing rooms, they had those little six-month pillows, and trying that on with the clothes was astounding, to say the least. (I heartily recommend this to all my married friends who are not expecting yet. This is a very poignant and surprising exercise to bring home, as nothing else can, the reality of what to expect.) Just as seeing the little fuzzy sonogram of our baby brought home the reality of this adventure like nothing else, so putting an actual picture of what I’m going to look like 5-6 months hence opened our eyes anew to the seriousness of this and, oh, I don’t know – as Bertie says, just plain thing-ness.

While we were walking through the mall we passed a confectionary and watched with interest the confectioner pour out scoops of praline onto a solid slab of marble. It looked delicious and terribly expensive. A few steps further brought us to the other side of the store, where there were free samples of that very confection. Delectable! It was your basic penuche candy (brown sugar and butter simmered together to soft-ball stage, cooled and infused with powdered sugar) with pecans in it, and simply marvelous. The samples were terribly generous, too – more than just tantalising-size. How could the day get any better? Yet it did.

We dashed home, wrapped our gift, and went down to Ken and Anne’s wedding. All our friends were there. Everyone noticed my haircut. Michael pretended to be miffed at first that no one commented on his. (I cut his very short that morning.) He even predicted on the way down: ‘You just watch. Amanda is going to come up to you, put her hand on your shoulder, and exclaim, “Oh, Rose, it looks so cute!” But is Benjamin going to do the same for me? Nooo.’ When Laura commented that she is going to donate her hair to Locks of Love, too, as soon as it is long enough, Michael put in, ‘Yes, I offered mine, but apparently they mean each hair has to be 10 inches long. Come on! I mean, if you lay it end to end…’

The ceremony was simple and unorthodox (the groomsmen came out from behind a black curtain wearing sunglasses while rock music played; Ken’s alma mater song ‘The Victors’ played for the recessional; and there was no live music: DJ Ron Garner played all songs off his laptop) and the food was prompt and delicious. While we guests filed out to the receiving line, the rest of the wedding party (sans bride and groom) quickly rearranged the chairs and pulled out the tables. The lights in the hall dimmed, and we danced the night away amidst white Christmas lights and flickering candles. It was fabulous beyond words.