What a Waste

My cousin was married yesterday. She is the youngest cousin of the 5th generation of 13 cousins and the last of us to get married. She is also the only, beloved daughter of my Aunt and her second husband. I used to babysit for her when she was a brat. Now she is a lovely, accomplished young woman who married the avowed love of her life.

In front of 150 of her closest friends and relations.

My Aunt, a social mover and shaker in the upper crust of Camden society, spared no expense to marry off her youngest child. I have just returned from attending a wedding that would have had Martha Stewart herself nodding with approval. I should be feeling honored at having been a guest at "the Camden Wedding of the Season".

Yet, all I feel is faintly nauseated. What a waste of money! My grandmother, a Frugal Yankee of the First Order, is rolling over in her grave. I'm talking big money here. My Dad and I estimated somewhere between 40-50 thousand dollars was shelled out for the extravaganza. A tasteful, elegant waste, but a waste all the same.

You do the math:

a 3 "humper" tent as big as my house.

1 emergency tent add-on due to the rain.

Flowers everywhere. Big, beautiful arrangements on each table. (Two of which are now in my home.) For me, the flowers were the best part.

A 9 piece jazz ensemble.

A cellist and violinist who played during the ceremony and cocktail "hour". The cocktail hour lasted from 3:30pm until 6pm.

Enough booze the sink a ship or at the very least get entire small state soused. The booze was still flowing freely at 11 pm, eight hours after the bar(s) opened. That is including the 3, I kid you not, 3 kegs of beer in the rowboat filled with ice.

A sit down dinner. Hot and spicy carrot soup with a bread stick big enough to use as a weapon. Followed by rare lamb, pink potato salad, butter beans in butter and a seasonal tomato salad. The food was divine. I considered trying to smuggle some of the left over bread sticks home but my hands were full of flowers. Oh, and the potatoes were pink. Not on the outside but the potato itself was a soft pink. The caterer should be sainted. Obviously, the food did not make me nauseous.

The 4 tier wedding cake. Blueberry and lemon. To die for.

I've run out of steam. Should I mention the place card which were waiting for us on a table at the entrance of the tent. On each card was a guests name and then the name of the "island" that each guest would be eating at. Each card was hand stenciled with the "logo" of the wedding which was two ferns, one light and one dark green, over laying each other. Each card had been pierced at the top with a pearl stick pin which was embedded in a wine cork on the back side. So that the card would "sit" at the proper angle on the table. Each table, a.k.a. Island, had an original piece of art work depicting the named island. I wandered around for an age looking for Pickering Island before I eventually found my home. Of course, I ended up deserting Pickering for Butter Island just after the soup course. They were having way more fun on Butter then we were having on Pickering. My sisters were on Butter.

And I mentioned the dress. The dress that was made of raw silk. The one the bride looked smashing in although whoever made the decision to make her lovely straight fine hair look like she has been caught in a high wind and then shellacked in place was on drugs. (That was catty.) The dress. She wore it for 12 hours, which is a long time for a bride to wear the dress. She dieted for weeks to get into the dress and will never fit into the dress again. She will never wear the dress again. A waste. And no, I will refrain from going into the historical significance of the wedding dress. I can hear you all thanking me.

Let's wind things up, shall we?

Here is what I want my daughter to say to my ex and I when she tells us that she is engaged.

"Mom. Dad. My young man and I have decided that we want to get married in a very small ceremony. We want to invite just our parents, siblings and one or two close friends. That's all. Maybe a toast and a pot luck at the house. I love a good pot luck, Mom. You know that. I don't believe in our culture's media driven, commercialized version of what should be a private, solemn ceremony.

Dad, you have busted your butt to put me through college. Take the money you would have spent on a huge wedding and travel. Give some to Mom so that she can travel as well. If you want to give us something that's fine. We would invest it or use it for a down payment on a house. I love you both and thank you for all you have ever done for me. You are the best parents in the whole world."

Repeat two times.

Rant over. Climbing off of my high horse. Let's hope I don't fall on my face.