One of my friends from high school got married this weekend. We both happen to live in LA right now and I got to tag along with another good friend from our class. It was a lovely ceremony and reception with particularly touching moments and a whole lotta love goin on. For these two, and between them as well. Friends and family flew in from all across the country. Lucky me, I only had to drive 30 minutes to Woodland Hills. Piece of (wedding) cake.
LA matrimonial couture: chic platforms, evening clutch, Starbucks.
From my seat at the ceremony, this little baby and I had a brief love affair. We made eyes, caught a few smiles, we bounced up and down and surprised ourselves by burping (me, because of my vodka tonic of course). We contemplated the meaning of love and thought about all the possibility ahead of us. Well, one of us did. The other one gnawed on her binky. (Again, me.)
I provide a lower-class alternative.
This chic worked that dance floor in socks. Rainbow Pants don’t take no hostages.
YMCA looking suspiciously like a tent revival.
Hearts melted a hundred times that night. And Jen gets some serious points for not throwing her bouquet. AKA, the single lady walk of shame. If you can “walk in shame” without benefit of a scandalous rendezvous, it is in that moment where the DJ calls forth any unmarried woman, to willingly elbow the others for an airborne object. Single ladies live shorter lives than married ones – due to injuries sustained in full-contact flower catching.
To Jen + Josh. And a lifetime of great love, happiness and laughter together.