I now have the dress and the shoes for my cousin's wedding tomorrow. I agreed to read for her, and found to my dismay (no, HORROR), that I will be reading an excerpt from the Song of Songs...the "my lover is like a gazelle" part.
How exactly am I expected to stand in front of my brother, sisters, mother, grandmother, uncle, aunts and numerous cousins and read "my lover is like a gazelle" without so much as a snicker? You couldn't just pick St. Paul's letter to the damn Corinthians like every other Catholic in Philadelphia? Noooo, we have to go Old Testament. Shit. Not only that, but then I'll have to endure the mighty-funny critiques of my performance from my hardy-har-har siblings for the rest of the evening. My older sister in particular will extend herself on the topic after a few cocktails. My only weapons will be those we've used against one another since high school: the "fuck you" fake sneeze, and the removal of imaginary eyelashes using a prominently displayed middle finger. Actually, those are both still excellent.
I might need to take defensive action, honoring another time-honored wedding tradition in our family, which is to begin drinking several hours before the ceremony (it starts at 2 pm, so maybe not). Sigh.
At least the dress and the shoes won't let me down. The dress is a just-above the knee hot pink silk crepe de chine with a deep v neck and elbow-length sleeves. It lightens to light pink at the bottom, almost a tie-dye effect. The shoes are black patent peep-toes with a wedge heel and critically-important grippy rubber soles. The marble floor at St. John the Baptist in Philadelphia is 170 years old and polished by generations of Irish Catholic feet...better men and women than I have taken serious spills while walking down that aisle. If I have to proclaim that my lover is like a gazelle with a straight face in front of the entire congregation, then I'd better make bloody damn sure that my feet will remain firmly attached to the floor at all appropriate times.