706 Words
Dear God, I am not a religious person. We aren’t even getting married in a church, for Christ’s sake. But this is not just a case of nerves, or the nicotine talking; this is an epiphany. The Groom waiting for me at the end of the aisle (the end of my life) is wrong. Dear Allah, please help me. I only let it get this far because I want to be married so badly.
Thankfully, I’ll never be in the position of a Bride. As beautiful as the concept of marriage is, the only soul I feel devoted to is my cat.
Lord, I want to be married. I am selfish. I know if I don’t do this, I will end up an old lady who lives with 10 cats. I will be the woman at the supermarket who has kibble in her hat, and mumbles to herself. When I go to pay for my bags of canned tuna, a kitten will pop its head out of my purse, and I’ll hiss at it, and then smile at the cashier like I’m not crazy and alone.
I caught a glimpse of the Bride putting out her cigarette before taking her fathers arm to walk down the aisle. She looks determined.
Deep breaths. I will take up yoga, and go on long retreats at far away resorts, if that’s what it takes. Oh God, this is so sad. I do love him, but for the rest of eternity? There is no way I am becoming a cat lady. When I go through with this, it’s good. My brothers are monks, and I refuse to be the child demonstrating unfaithfulness by getting a divorce. Oh, God. I’m fine. Where’s my “Dad? Let’s go.”
From the snippets of wedding ceremonies I’ve seen, this is the most unconventional. There are at least seven Buddhist monks in traditional garb, and a lady in a hat that has to be part of her religion.
One foot after another. Left, right, eyes straight ahead through the veil, I’m not ready. Look happy, look I can’t do this, left, right, Oh my God, what is Aunt Cathy wearing on her head? Count the feathers, I can do this, I can do this. Quail is not fashionable, yet it warrants my attention. Thank you Lord, for sending me a miracle!
Hand in hand with my Groom, I feel a wild laugh erupting from my lips. What are we running from? What we approach is the largest obstacle we have ever faced together. We are two separate souls bobbing like the rest of the world in an ocean of questions. Unlike the others, we seem to have answers upon which we float. My answers have slipped to the depths, and now I rely upon my strength to keep appearing buoyant. I need to get drunk.
To me, the cake is the symbol of the Bride and Groom’s love for each other. Our baker and decorating team presents them with a piece of art.
On the table stands a 5 tier cake. The first two tiers are three layers of chocolate cake filled with a layer of raspberry filling and cream buttercream. The other three tiers are three layers of white cake filled with a layer of chocolate ganache, and a layer of mocha buttercream. The cake is covered in vanilla buttercream and finished with pale fondant. The lace pattern on the Bride’s dress was recreated with marzipan, and winds up the side of the cake, along with sugar paste Queen Anne’s Lace flowers. The cake is connected to another four satellite cakes by staircases adorned with more carefully crafted flowers, winding sugar honeysuckle, and a water fountain. Fresh flowers decorate the table, and a knife monogrammed with the couple’s initials invites them to destroy the masterpiece.
The connection of cakes is nice. We place our hands on the specialized knife, a souvenir from this night that will reside in a drawer somewhere forever, and cut into the one we assume to be Jupiter of this convectional solar system, together.
God help me. The first and last day of forever.
Imagine that; being able to celebrate monogamy happily. It must be nice to have a human soul mate.
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