by Nancy Canfield

Created on: July 25, 2009   Last Updated: August 28, 2010

God smiled upon our sleepy little town yesterday and ordered Mother Nature to lay off the monsoons long enough for a wedding to take place. A bright circular UFO broke through the dismal clouds in the sky and all was right with the world.

I spoke with the MOB (mother of the bride) and she asked me what I was wearing. I told her I went with bling from head to toe, and that she would be able to see me from the ball field, a quarter mile away. I sensed hesitation in her voice as she changed the subject. (Taking liberties with wedding attire is another advantage of age, I think.) The BTB (bride to be) was having her make-up done, and I could tell MOB was itching to capture the hair spray in mid air and take stock of the eyelashes, in case one got stuck on a bagel.

We arrived at the church where the ex instructed me in the art of lining up the car allowing for maximum room in the parking lot. He should have had his neon yellow parking vest on. The BTB's brother looked smashing in his Sunday go to meetin' suit, although I could tell he was anxious to get to the reception and swill down a scotch. As the ushers seated the guests, I immediately noticed how young everyone looked. I began to feel like a minority. The ceremony was perfect.

I tried to prod the ex quickly into the car so I could get a near-by parking spot at the reception, but that's like stuffing a marshmallow into a parking meter. We finally found a spot, and I was treated to a parallel parking lesson. My right front tire rim suffered and to the guy that was behind me, once again...sorry! It was a challenge keeping by diamond studded sandals on while trekking down the steps to the Reading Room, but I only had one toe cramp attack.

We immediately sniffed out the bar and lollygagged outside on the deck awaiting the entrance of the bride and groom. I will say that stuffing one's face with coconut shrimp, scallops wrapped in bacon, crab cakes, beef Wellington, and other hors d' oeuvres that I can't pronounce does wonders for a toe cramp. The ex and I found a group of friends with gray hair, and talked about class reunions and who died recently.

The toasts were clever and touching. I swilled my champagne on the first one, not realizing they would all be given at once, so I did a lot of empty glass hoisting, hoping no one would notice. My gray haired friends and I were chastising ourselves for not leaving enough room for dinner. Turns out it was no problemo.

The bride's uncle and I, being the only smokers in

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