Fingers, Toes, Children, Pets
It's just after 8:30 on a Sunday morning and I've already had a full day. Mamie's getting her hair done because there's no age limit on brides' ability to demand their sisters, cousins and friends don matching black and pink satin gowns and don't ANYONE say "Good & Plenty." I know that Mamie's demanded the stylist create something architecturally unsound because yesterday, as usual, she called me from from her entirely sensible American-made bulldozer to report her whereabouts and activities. Earlier, she'd gone to the gym without her phone. I'd nearly had a conniption. If Mamie's out of touch for more than an hour I'm printing up milk cartons and looking for cooperative cows. Let the coyote-like howling begin!
Mamie: I KNOW! I thought the phone was grafted to my body at the Cingular store.
Tata: I've got a stapler. Stop by!
Mamie: I went to check my messages and my phone wasn't in the Coach bag, and it wasn't on the floor or in my pockets and I hadn't stuffed it up anyone's ass, deserving or otherwise. I was almost sure of it. So it had to be on the table at home, charging.
Tata: I bet you had a heart attack when you realized how that inconvenienced Me.
Mamie: I did! I promise to never do it again until next time. Anyway, inspired by your daughters' bridesmaids I decided to get my hair done at a stupid hour tomorrow morning. It's got to be tall, lacquered like antique Japanese furniture and embarrassing six months from now so my cousin regrets making me cart around bales of silk flowers.
Tata: Lost cause. She's over thirty yet she's wearing pink platform sneakers. With glitter. There's no shaming her! My twelve-year-old niece wouldn't go near those without lighter fluid. I demand you call me from the wedding and narrate.
Tata: Stage whisper!
Mamie: (whispering at the top of her lungs) My cousin Hortense is wearing a lime and aubergine mumu that would confuse migrating birds.
Tata: In fact, I don't know why we weren't on the phone the whole time at Miss Sasha's wedding.
Mamie: We were sitting five feet apart - OH MY GOD! I LOVE YOU!
Ah, she's got the picture! I know what happens next. If you've just joined Poor Impulse Control in progress, you may not realize Mamie shouts this while she's driving and laughing hysterically. Her voice goes up an octave. I jerk the phone away from my ear and wait for the inevitable crunching of metal, deploying of the bags and delivery of threats. Crunch. Woosh! Blah blah my lawyer and a crowbar blah blah blah. She goes through more bulldozers this way.
Disembodied Voice: Hi, this is OnStar. I've got a signal that your airbag has deployed.
Mamie: Hey, Sheila! I'll have the usual. How're the kids?
DV: Mamie, I'm up to my neck in strep but thanks for asking. One tow truck and hot nineteen-year-old driver, coming up!
Mamie: We needed a conference call.
Tata: Do you see the crooked bow?
Mamie: Do you see the crooked bow?
Daria: Does anyone see the crooked bow?
Mom: I believe I think I could be wrong put perhaps I may be right that I see what appears to be a crooked bow - not that there's anything wrong with it inherently and she's such a beautiful girl.
Dad: Take a connecting flight to the point! That bow is crooked!
Auntie InExcelsisDeo: If she'd been raised right, that bow wouldn't be crooked now.
Trout: That bow is asymetrical. Just the way I like it!
Lala: That bow's crookedness expresses the bride's symbolic sacrifices.
Sharkey: How can you talk about the bow when my hair is perfect? I mean perfect!
Tata: In the movie version of Miss & Mr. Sasha's wedding, we will all be on a giant party line. At least nobody has to listen to that ceremony a second time.
Mamie: And next time there's a crooked bow, get up and fix it. You can do that. In fact, you're the only person in the world who can get up in the middle of the ceremony and fix what's wrong, so you're in charge of that.
Tata: I am? I guess I owe everyone an apology.
Mamie: Gotta go. Raoul's here with the flatbed. Don't wait up!
Miss Sasha's wedding is behind us. Lala's daughter's wedding is behind us. Mamie's cousin's wedding is today. We're sick to death of these annoying interruptions in our summer regimen of basking, sipping, sunning. Still, it's even money if Raoul gets to summer school Tuesday morning.