Later my friend S. asked me what time I would leave, since the wedding was at 3 pm on Saturday. I told her in that case I would drive down on Saturday morning and meet up with her in Moncton, we could get ready and go over to the wedding together. It wasn’t until I was several hours into my trip that, for whatever reason, I finally read the invitation and almost crashed my car when I realized that I WAS ACTUALLY ONLY INVITED TO THE RECEPTION following the wedding, at 5 pm.
This wouldn’t be such a big deal (just hang out in Moncton and meet up at the reception later on right?) except for the fact that, with much mortification, I remembered a conversation that I had with the bride two weeks prior. I must have been shooting my mouth off a bit, being all giddy and excited for her upcoming big day, when she asked me:
“so you’re coming to the wedding?”
at this point I had already RSVPd so I was a bit confused “yes of course!” I said.
“the wedding and the reception?” she asked, slightly surprised.
“yes! of course!” I said again, and then hugged her and danced around like an imp, or something.
So I’m in my car, on the way to a wedding that I actually invited myself to, trying to decide what to do. Should I go? She IS expecting me now, after all. Or should I just wait around until the reception? Or would that be rude? The last thing I want to do is make her feel bad. After several failed attempts at phoning S. (who was REALLY invited to the wedding) and who is waiting for my arrival, I decide to go to the wedding, and grovel later. For the remainder of the drive I played out several “worst case scenarios” in my head including one where there isn’t a chair for me and I have to stand at the back, beet faced, awkward, overdressed.
Despite my mortification it turned out beautifully. I went as S’s “date” (since her original date RSVPd and then couldn’t make it) and when I apologized to C. later (and thanked her for accommodating me, raved over how beautiful she was, told her how happy I was to have seen her vows) she told me she was glad I was there and would have invited me anyways it was just that she was originally trying to keep the guest list small. Though it’s possible she was only saying this to protect my fragile ego, it seemed like she meant it. I believe she did.
Then we partied partied partied partied. Danced danced danced danced. It was truly a wonderful time and a night to remember. The weather could not have been more perfect for the outdoor event. Two great ideas that I hope to incorporate in my own wedding (one day!) are a) a big white tent strung with lights and lanterns for the meal and the party b) kegs of micro brew and hundreds of bottles of home made wine.
Chapter 2: “Something terrible happened to my exhaust.”
The saga of the Maroon-Mobile aka Battle Star Galactica is seemingly never ending. I really think it might be time to put a brick on the gas pedal and just let it drive itself into the Saint John river (like Battle Star Galactica into the Sun, you know?)
The day after the wedding S. and I decided to take a drive out to the beach. Armed with maps, waters, towels and books we set out on our adventure. It was a beautiful warm and sunny day and we were feeling pretty good about ourselves. I was noticing that my engine was a lot louder than usual but tried to remember what Jamie would tell me, which is “calm down you’re worrying too much.” But the rumbling was gradually accompanied by a terrifying rattling, and when I went over bumps a horrifying CLANG CLANG CLANG just couldn’t be ignored. I was no longer calm.
We found the beach, and despite frayed nerves I made a perfect parallel park. Just as I pulled the emergency brake into place, a crash and a scrape announced that something metallic had fallen from my car onto the road. S. and I looked at each other then climbed out of the car. A quick peek underneath confirmed my suspicious. The exhaust pipe had pretty much crumbled off the car and was hanging there pathetically like a broken limb. Luckily I have CAA *high five* but I needed a better description of the location besides just "the beach." Across the street there were a bunch of trailers gathered on a lot, and a friendly looking group of men and women enjoying the day. We approached with our tails between our legs, said we were having car trouble and needed to call CAA. We asked for the name of the town and street. All I knew was that we were 20 minutes outside of Moncton, on a side road off highway 133.
“What’s wrong with your car?” asked one of the men after a sip of beer, of which I was suddenly jealous.
“Something terrible happened to my exhaust” I said, holding back tears, every special feeling of sunny beach hopefulness rusting over and flaking away. Later S. told me I was “very calm.”
“Well, let me take a look at it” he suggested.
The incredibly nice man got me to drive my car (exhaust pipe scraping along the road, like nails on a black board) onto the lot. He quickly and efficiently tied it back up with some coat hanger. Said that it would make it back to Moncton, and probably to Saint Basile, but that I would have to get it checked out. Said that I could leave the car on the lot while S. and I spent the rest of the day at the beach.
And it turned out to be a perfect day. One of the best. The kindness of strangers reaffirmed, the sketchy-rough, sometimes strange beauty of New Brunswick soaked into every pore, a lot of laughter, an adventure and a story for later.
Battle Star Galactica did make it back to Saint Basile. Muffler dangling precariously, exhaust pipe held on with coat hanger, dripping in the sun, it awaits its fate in my backyard.
No comments:
Post a Comment