On Wednesday, I went to lunch with Logan at school. Everyone at the lunch table was buzzing about the wedding that would be happening at recess. They had a photographer, maid of honor, best man. The bride's mom was supposed to be picking out a tuxedo and wedding dress. Evidently they missed the step where they discuss this with the groom's parents, not even an invitation. Imagining my wife's disappointment when I arrived home to tell her our son was married, and that she missed the rehearsal dinner of corn dog nuggets, steamed broccoli and salad. Oh and don't forget the chocolate milk we toasted with on this runaway train toward the monkey bar altar.
The torrid romance that led up to this included my son hugging her every time he saw her at the Spring Fling last Saturday. As they parted for the last time, he planted a kiss on her cheek. "Aww isn't that sweet." her mother replied. "Gross, don't ever do that again." was her response. This was followed quickly by a talk with our son about the difference between liking someone and being a creepy stalker. Nothing it seems would deter young love.
All was going well as plans were being discussed around the table, until a fateful moment changed everything. Bubbling with excitement, the maid of honor spun to face the bride, who happened to be taking a drink from her water bottle at that precise moment. Time slowed as the bottle flew out of her hands and streams of liquid arched through the air, pelting the soon to be bride. Hair and dress destroyed, tears exploded from her face as the rest of the water formed a pond in her lap.
Apologies and napkins tried to repair the moment, but it was lost. There would be no wedding today. She did smile again as we were sailing across the playground as pirates on our way to steal the treasure. And for a few more years at least, we get to keep ours.
I better not get a bill from the photographer.