So over the weekend, I went to the first wedding where I’ve been sort of involved with the wedding party since Phillip’s sister’s wedding several years ago. Up to that point, I’d been a bridesmaid many a time, I’d been a bride, I’d been a maid and a matron both. And I always had a nice time. But I had never been an usher. Chuck, the Best Man, canceled on Brian, my brother-in-law, the day before the wedding. An unbelievably crappy thing to do, you ask me. I offered to put on Chuck’s tux and stand up for my new brother-in-law, and once he realized I was serious, he took me up on it. I had a terrific time! The rented pants were a little bit itchy, but everything else about the tux was groovy. Plus, scotch and cigars, and nothing any too fussy. In other words: perfect.

So over the weekend, Phillip and I were at the wedding of the other lovely lady who wore a tux to MY wedding. I also had a great time there, and not just because Phillip was in a kilt. That man does wonderful things for a kilt. Makes me want to emigrate to Scotland…

Oh yeah, the point is that I dressed with the ladies and the bride’s party, which was perfectly nice. They are fun ladies. But there was no scotch, no cigars. The clothes were fussy. There were kids running around. It just wasn’t the SAME. I missed the Balvenie.