Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Weddings, weddings, weddings. Love is in the air, and everyone is getting married. In fact, as I write this, my (younger) cousin has called to announcement his engagement.

Am I green with envy? Seething that I’ve seemingly been left behind? Well, I won’t lie. Part of me is a teensy weensy bit jealous that I don’t yet have the great love of a great man who will want to take that step with me, but on the other hand, I am so not ready to walk down the aisle.

Emotionally is the first reason. I like where I am now.

Laziness is the second reason. Just watching Oli go through the motions and neverendingly inane details gives me a headache. Remind me that if and when the big day comes, to hire a wedding planner. I just don’t have the patience for that crap.

Wedding #1 was a few weeks ago, during a most hectic period, and so I’m just getting to it now. Rest assured that I had a fantastic time; my Diary of a Hangover attested to that beautifully, I think.

That wedding, which was initially supposed to belong to Raj and James, ended up being for my cousin David and his blushing bride, Rose.

At first I didn’t want to go. Chalk that up to family politics. We have had our differences, as all families do, over stupid little molehills that managed to become mountains.

Until I was at the ceremony, and saw my cousin’s face. He held his bride’s hand, dutifully listened to the priest, and wore the crown of the Orthodox ceremony, radiating happiness.

It is a humbling thing, to see your family so happy. I acquiesced.

Ceremony done, man and wife, doves were released and we thus headed to wine country for the reception.

Unfortunately, there was an uninvited guest. The tail end of Hurricane Ernesto blew in, did some major damage the night before, and left plenty of wind and puddles for us to trudge through. This wouldn’t have been so bad if it was an indoor deal, but outside, on the lake shore and in a tent didn’t bode so well.

Every woman left that party with ruined heels. But then, seeing as we were at a winery, all was made better with fermented grapes.

Leaving wine out, I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol. To wake up in the morning and pray for death, I had to do some pretty serious guzzling the night before.

Here was my personal menu:

1) Two glasses of red wine.

2) An entire bottle of white wine. This was the waiter’s fault. I kept asking for a new bottle of water, seeing as one per eight guests goes pretty fast, and he ignored me for a half hour. I was thirsty, thus I downed the white.

3) Four sea breezes. My other cousin’s girlfriend, who I call Leather (she reminds me of Leather from “Leather and the Suedes”), kept dragging me to the bar and making sure my cup was filled.

4) A shot or two of homemade Plum Brandy. Really, this was practically forced down my throat. We’re Eastern European, and this is the custom.

5) A few lemon drops. Have you ever had those? A vodka shot followed by a chaser of sugar and lemon. Cold medication gone wild. Disgusting.

6) A cigarette. Me and Corey were craving.

7) Other smokeables, if you know what I mean. Shh! Don’t tell anyone!

After said list and before the comatose sleep that took me to death’s door, I had a lot of fun. A LOT. I ran around, I socialized, I laughed my head off, I almost broke my neck on a spilled drink on the dance floor. I tickled me pink.

Moms, however, was less than thrilled. The next morning, “You can’t drink like that at your sister’s wedding.”

Me, trying my absolute best to ignore the pounding headache: “Why not?”

Instead of answering me directly, she redirected to Oli, who was over. “Honey, she can’t drink like that at your wedding.”

Us: “Why not?”

Her: “People will talk!”

Me: “About what?”

Moms sighed most dramatically, stirring her coffee and adding two lumps. “Your behaviour wasn’t proper.”

Hoo boy. I knew it was coming. “Last night, did I throw up everywhere?”

“No…”

“Did I fall?”

“No…”

“Did I yell, scream, insult people, throw drinks or make a total ass of myself?”

“No…”

Point made! “Then could you please tell me what exactly I did that will make people talk?”

Leave it to my mom to think of something, even in the face of the impossible. “You were bubbly.”

Once upon a time, being a happy person was a good thing. Oyvey.