Before you flood us with questions, clog the cyber wires and cause a national security breach of the likes unseen since the Flagrant Mouse Chewing Apostrophe of 1952, please refer to this convenient list of FAQs, answered:
Q: Why did you and CSB get married last week?
A: Because it was the night before the Pig Roast.
Q: Let me re-phrase, why did you get married at all?
A: Because I had exhausted all the possibilities for referring to CSB (boyfriend, partner, POSSLQ, mate, main squeeze, old man, better/taller/much taller half, consort, emergency contact) and found them all wanting.
Q: What’s with the Pig Roast anyway?
A: We wanted to have a joint 60th birthday party, and we had exhausted all the possible fun party themes in previous years, such as the guanaco and ostrich rides in the back 40; the parachuting clowns - this was an unqualified failure as it turns out there are more coulrophobes in the general population than there are clowns, hence clowns jumping out of the sky precipitated many trips to the ER and a run on certain drugs from the local apothecary; the opium poppy piñata; pin the tail on the hybrid car; and Exquisite Corpse meets the local Police Blotter. So CSB came up with the pig roast idea, which is a delicious one.
Q: Did you guys raise the pig?
A: We did not. We raised Hamlette last year, but she grew very fast and very large before we noticed. We were novices in the pig-raising field, which is not to say that we are now experts. So we hired two very nice young men from Brooklyn (Off the Hook Catering) who went to a very good school (Fieldston) and specialize in “whole animal cookery” and they did an excellent job roasting two piglets.
Q: But were the piglets as happy as Hamlette?
A: Despite the much-vaunted intelligence of pigs, we cannot answer that question. But they did grow up on a bucolic organic farm in Pennsylvania, a state notoriously founded by peace-loving Quakers.
Q: Would you recommend getting married the day before hosting a Pig Roast?
A: Are you insane?
Q: Please elaborate.
A: It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, we had secured the attendance of most of our beloved family members for the Pig Roast when CSB suggested we make double use of the tent and get married. Naturally, I leapt at the idea, as visions of veils, Transylvanian oligarch brides, and French meringues danced in my head. It was the later introduction of reality, in the shape of folding & ironing napkins beyond count, sticking yellow and black ribbons onto bee-themed place-cards, worrying about whether there would be enough food for our families after the wedding, worrying about the weather, worrying about the champagne, worrying if our respective families would like each other, or even talk to each other, worrying if I would break out in a disfiguring rash the night before (the sort of thing almost guaranteed to precipitate said rash), worrying if the poison ivy on my left shoulder and armpit would spread all over my body & I would end up getting married with pus filled poison ivy blisters, worrying about the scuzz exuding from Daisy and Bruno’s eyes, worrying about the bees and if they would swarm, worrying more about the weather, the food and the tent falling down.
Q: Was there anything you did not worry about that you should have?
A: Iggy’s bowels, pre-ceremony. Also, what to do when I open the refrigerator door and a bottle of excellent champagne leaps out and crashes to the floor, sending fine glass shards and champagne everywhere, including all over my wedding dress. Also, sleep.
Q: Whose dress was more bridal, yours or your granddaughter, Leda’s?
A: Leda’s, of course. (Mine had a black sash). We also had matching bouquets.
Q: Who made Christine’s wedding ring?
A: Funny you should ask. A very nice elderly Zoroastrian who, with his elderly Zoroastrian wife, has a small jewelry store in town.
Q: Do you know any Zoroastrian jokes now?
A: As it happens, we do. But they are not funny unless you already know the Zoroastrian rituals regarding what to do with dead bodies.
Q: Do all Belgian women wear saris to weddings and parties, or just your mother?
A: As far as I know, only my mother.
Q: Could you have picked a more arcane reading from the Song of Solomon for Tristram to read at the church? From his iPhone.
A: Doubtful.
Q: What is spikenard anyway?
A: It’s a member of the Valerian family, has small pink flowers, and grows at altitudes over 3000 meters. They say it helps with insomnia, and also has anti-fungal qualities.
Q: What about calamus?
A: It’s a member of the palm family, Arecaceae. The Australian variety is called ‘hairy mary’.
Q: Are you changing your name?
A: I have always hankered for Wilhemina, but no, I will stick with Christine.
Q: --?
A: Sorry, no more questions.
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5 comments:
I need a button on my computer for "frameable" - this is too good to be left only to the virtual world.
Best answer ever to that inevitable question: will you change your name?
My life has been made better by this post, Christine. Thank you.
And when will there be photos? And I don't mean of the pigs.
I think your mother looks wonderful in her sari, and she also looks very proud of her clever daughter and new son-in-law!
Congrats to all!
Love,
Becky
Loved the celebration, loved the pig, love you and Chucker too!!
We think CSB just wanted to kill a pig.
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