a bodice ripper of a night

In every photo taken at my friend Jen’s wedding, I appear to be either eating or holding cake. This seems wholly appropriate (that my zipper broke prior to all this cake consumption, does not. But that is another story). In pictures where cake is conspicuously lacking, I’m wearing what my sister calls my Baby Eater Face. Look, if suffering from exceeding joy makes me look like I’m crazed and ready to eat your baby, then so be it. Because on Sunday night, I was exactly that – suffering from exceeding joy.

 


Right now, though, I feel like I’m suffering a sort of hangover. Not from the soaking I gave my liver – and oh, I gave it a soaking – but from the intense happiness of being surrounded by friends, most of whom I have spent a great deal of time missing over the last few years. If I wasn’t keenly aware how much I miss having them in my daily life, I sure am now. That’s the bitter-sweetness of reunions, I suppose.  

As for that zipper story: Biscuit, my date and hotel-room-sharer (the Boy and I could not both afford to travel to Boston for the event), was in the shower when I threw my dress over my head, tied the halter and zip…

“Biscuit! Gah! I need you! Mydressohmygod it’s stuck!”

The zipper had stopped a few inches from the top and would neither go up nor down. Biscuit scrambled into some clothes and to my rescue but no amount of tugging (or less physical but ingenious solutions) had any effect. It was going nowhere. At first I hit dead panic. The contents of my suitcase covered events like sleeping, eating take-out on Eleanor’s couch and um, not much else. That dress was IT as far as wedding apparel and I was going to have to make do. And I did, while praying to as many deities as were on call that the zipper didn’t suddenly quit altogether and expose a church full of innocents to my left boob. In the end, my zipper fears were totally in vain, because at the close of the night, Stuart had to use brute force to break me out of the dress, while Krissa and I squeezed our eyes shut in anxiety. Clearly, Stuart knows his bodice ripping, because the only thing damaged in the process was the rogue zipper. The dress will happily live to see more cake. 

Photo Involving Neither Cake Nor Baby Eating by Jason Martin.

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