The Post nuptial report

(Have you ever wondered why nuptial is pronounced that way it is, instead of the way it looks? Put another way, have you ever wondered why it isn't spelled nuptual? Even given the eccentric and occasionally absurd pronunciation of the English language, this irks me. But onward.)
I am still in a fog induced by last weekend's wedding of Tristram and Nika. (Additional fogginess provided by recent dilation of eyeballs for retina examination. Results: eyeballs look good.) And I would like expatiate on some of the happy moments of the weekend, the beautiful bride, the pink champagne, the charming South African cousins, the speeches, the beautiful bride, the sun finally shining, the flowers, the lavender in her upswept hair, the trumpets in church, the poetry of Emily Dickinson & the letters of Rilke, the ringing of the church bells, my son's gracious & sublime speech (the course of maternal pride runs strong these days), the beautiful bride, her father's speech, her mother's charm and ebullience and mother-in-law solidarity, the music ("Straight from Astoria,Queens") by Tristram's nursery school classmates, still making great music, the children dancing all night, the sheer happiness of their love.

But it really is too much, so I will instead tell you what Tristram's younger cousins learned at his wedding:
Out on the dance floor, M, a college roommate of Tristram’s, took aside Dylan (13) and Christian (13) and told them that dancing up a storm was the surest way to get laid.
Later when he saw them spooning up honey from the jars of specially bottled Let it Bee Local Honey(in honor of the sweetness of the newlyweds) M asked the boys about “honey shots”. Upon trying the honey he suggested that it would be a great date strategy as well. (Note to self: a new marketing strategy for Let it Bee Local honey? Put a Buzz in your Libido?*)

From the groom’s godfather, P.U., they learned of Tristram’s weekend outing in Greenwich Village at age seven (21 years ago), and his fascination with the Condomania Store (it used to grace Bleeker Street, in more innocent times). Being a dutiful godfather, PU endeavored to explain to his young charge the raison d’etre for such things, in all their myriad colors and flavors. Surely there were several godfathers in attendance wondering if they had fulfilled their duties properly.

Back at their hotel, the young cousins learned that an AMPLE SINGLES event does not mean there are piles of one dollar bills. It is a dating party for large people, very large people. And in some cases, the skinny people who love them.

According to the bride’s father, the key to a happy marriage is deciding early on who will be right and who will be wrong. In all cases I know the wife is right and the husband is wrong; there is rarely an exception to this rule. This struck me as very wise. I suspect that had we followed that simple precept, my ex and I might still be married. Or maybe I am reading way too much into this.
Another surefire path to marital bliss, according to the bride’s father, is to assign unimportant decisions to one spouse (where to live, where the children will go to school, how holidays are celebrated) and important ones to the other spouse (whether to bail out GM, whether to invade Iraq, Syria, Iran, or North Korea). I don’t need to tell you who decides what.

*Thanks to my brother-in-law Hal for this copy.
Photos by Lee Hewitt