Saturday. Evening comes. Also my sister and her husband. They've been driving a horse trailer with most of my belongings. They were caught in two severe thunderstorms while driving out. They wrapped the trailer's holes in plastic but reported there were some dampened boxes. Also they went through tornado warnings and spent some of the previous night hiding in the hotel bathroom. They went through another severe thunderstorm, maybe two, while driving through Michigan. My father has been telling bunny_hugger over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again about how I've filled this trailer with stuff, scaring her, and he's been telling her how she'll have to make me rent a storage locker. I snap at him to stop it already, and the hurt on his face hurts me too.
I figure a corner in the basement's good for storing stuff at least until after our honeymoon. We put plastic bags on the floor to guard some against the damp. Everyone wants to know how to help me carrying boxes out of the trailer and down the steps and into the basement. There's not much they can do; the trailer door and the stairway are choke points, and carrying all these things are penance for owning too many things. My father's put multiple boxes I had designated as not wanted and sent them along, so I have that to deal with too. It takes longer than I'd have thought for people to understand that I'm bringing down boxes by the kind, by their physical dimensions, since many of them are banker's boxes of the same size and similar weight, and many are actually leftover Singapore Post boxes from when I left southeast Asia. Then there's break-bulk cargo, and then there's a lot of plastic scale models, some built, too many unbuilt. I've needed more horizontal surfaces. If I had less stuff I could do it.
My parents leave --- there is more to this than I know at the time --- and my sister and her husband leave once the trailer is emptied --- they're stunned by how compactly it's stored --- and we have time alone. Just me and bunny_hugger and skylerbunny and two friends. We talk, a lot. They're hungry. We go to a sports bar where for some reason the Tigers-Devil Rays game is on, and a band on the patio is covering Journey. I get a Boca-patty oliver burger and we see the pub quiz trivia channel has nobody in the bar participating. The appetizer, a sampler platter, fails to have the promised fried macaroni-and-cheese nuggets; skylerbunny flags down a waitress and gets this oversight corrected. They serve popcorn as generic appetizer, instead of chips or bread.
bunny_hugger wants to go to a particular bar, the one designed in 1978 after someone read Tolkein and really grokked it, man. Out of a vague desperate uncertainty what to order I try a gin martini, which one of the others in our party had ordered. A dirty one? Uh ... sure. It turns out dirty gin martinis are awful. I keep drinking it, trusting that maybe its subtle charms will emerge, although others try a sip and agree it's a really bad dirty gin martini. I soldier on. skylerbunny goes off and gets a cosmo. This better suits my tastes, and bunny_hugger finishes the martini, which she agrees is bad. Maybe five minutes later --- after we've gone through another round of the card game We Didn't Play Test This At All and turned the matter of winning and losing into a series of logical paradoxes --- the bartender comes over and sheepishly explains he forgot one of the ingredients and needed to re-mix my drink. It was improved, more citrusy, with the new blend.
I insist this is the sort of freakish event which happens improbably often to me. bunny_hugger thinks this is confirmation bias. Perhaps it is. I ask how many of you have had a bartender come out and apologize for preparing your drink wrong and re-mix it on the spot? How many of you have heard of this? What are the odds this would happen on maybe the fourth thing I've ever ordered from a bar?
It is of course ridiculous to think a nondrinker might get tipsy on two drinks. I will say that I was none to sure of my ability to walk in a straight line back home. We had walked to the bar in case anyone was too tipsy to drive back safely. Our path was to walk a straight line, and then make a right. We made it intact, at least.
We reviewed the ceremony, and edited the script some, and printed it out --- my first successful printout on bunny_hugger's printer, in a dull tech support story --- and then made some more changes so printed it out again, which is fine, since the first time around some papers stuck together and a single page printed across two sheets. The printer runs out of paper and I have to get on the floor to dig a ream out from under the furniture. It feels pretty nice laying on the floor. But we finish the vows and skylerbunny reads over what he's expected to say tomorrow. We expect him to say everything, with interludes where we repeat.
We get to bed. The ceremony is at noon.
Trivia: P T Barnum ran for a seat in the Connecticut House of Representatives just to vote in favor of the 13th Amendment; he became a strong advocate for enfranchising black men in Connecticut. Source: The King's Best Highway: The Lost History Of The Boston Post Road, The Route That Made America, Eric Jaffe.
Currently Reading: Benchley --- Or Else!, Robert Benchley.