Weddings

Ah, a good night. Mashi and Hemang's first anniversary, and so off we went out, for a meal and general celebration. Terribly decadent - I have a full school day tomorrow! - but fun nevertheless, especially as Hemang is leaving early tomorrow morning, not having been able to get much time off work. So, we went out, and chatted, and ordered food and shared it all out, and in the end, Mashi and I shared dessert. I will not tell the Great Affogatto Story again, especially as Pedar never tires of it and tells it to everyone under the sun and laughs every time. I have to admit it was funny, and sadly this time our sharing dessert wasn't nearly as amusing.

All eyes on the happy couple, of course. Earlier, before we left, Pedar got drinks for everyone and proposed a toast. He always gets a little shy over these things, and he said it was good for them to be here, they're a lovely couple and here's to many more years - simple and sweet. Then Mashi proposed a toast of thanks to my parents and me for being so welcoming, which made all three of us very embarrassed. And just as the glasses clinked for the second time, I quipped, "What, no poetry?"

Pedar, damn him, has a tendency to fixate on all my most unfortunate remarks. "You give us some poetry," he said, and he was serious, and then they were all looking at me. "You're the only writer in the family." So I stared at them all for a few seconds from the wrong side of a glass of Bailey's Irish Cream, and the only lines that came into my head were... well. I suppose you can guess.

"Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

Obviously, I misquoted terribly and missed out lots of it, but to my surprise, they seemed really touched. It made me feel almost guilty. Mashi asked me to copy out the sonnet for her, which I will do with pleasure.

The restaurant was nice, and the journey home was a lot of fun, seeing as how seven people were squished into one not very big car, and rather a few of those people were rather drunk. Well, tipsy and giggly - the fun kind of drunk. When she's had a few, my mother becomes more like me than she is at any other time - giggly and silly and prone to flights of fancy. For some reason, we decided we must visit Ireland, something I plan to follow up when sober. She spent at least five minutes convincing me we must visit Dublin and York. I said Dublin is in the Republic of Ireland and York is in Yorkshire. Several circuits of the argument later, I discovered she had been talking about Cork.

Actually, while I'm on the subject, my mother drunk is fun. I can tell we're related.

They're all sitting in the living-room now, looking at slides from the wedding (which I wasn't at). It looked like it was fun. I sort of wish I'd been there. The scary thing is it was the last wedding of the generation - my own cousins will be getting married next. And they do get married with such hoopla, it's scary.

Anyway. Bedtime for me, as I will be dead tomorrow.