Here we go, fiends. I’m runnin’ like a fink on fire. The Great Race begins today and ends (temporarily) on 16 December. That’s the next time I will breathe.
Mark me, though. Weekends are reserved for family and fun stuff with friends. OK, most weekends will be reserved for those things. But the schedule doesn’t look bad for September. October, however — well….
RNF for today: While making tea this morning, I found myself quietly singing the chorus to Beyoncé’s “Put a Ring On It,” which was played at the wedding on Saturday during the bride’s bouquet toss. I remember thinking that night, and again this morning: that tradition is probably ready for the wrecking ball. I mean, can you remember a wedding reception in the last 20 or so years where the “single ladies” made a mad dash for the dance floor in order to catch those flowers so they’ll be “next,” or where the DJ or bridesmaids weren’t out in the crowd, bodily dragging girls out of their chairs?
I played sporadically with a band years ago in a neighboring city. The leader, a loud-talking, bigger-than-life, lounge-lizard type in a cheesy tuxedo, would announce the bouquet toss with an infuriating “you know you want to do it” smirk in his voice. When the bride would throw the flowers, he’d shout, “Dive! Dive! Dive!” into the microphone. I always wanted to walk up behind him, take that mic stand, and…well, you know. It was humiliating to the girls on the floor. You could tell they hated it, but were taking one for the bride & groom.
So no wonder every single girl beats feet to the ladies’ room when she senses the impending bouquet cookie toss. Who wouldn’t want to avoid it? “OK, ladies and gentlemen, we now feature the girls who can’t get husbands, or are still in middle school.” I have worked wedding receptions for 30 years and have never once seen a group of girls who enjoyed it, or at least didn’t stand with their arms behind their backs.
Now, a bride throwing her bouquet over a stairwell or in the parking lot just before leaving — that’s cute. Everyone is gathered around — we’re not hauling single women out to the center of the ring like the next round of cattle at the auction.
All right, I must fly, my darlings. My mind does wander.