‘Even weddings I don’t get to go to.’
This weekend I’m flying to St. Louis to not go to a wedding. Yup, The Kids are invited to a nuptial event in the Gateway City and asked me to come along to watch Mr. Baby while they throw rice, sip champagne and join conga lines.
What I’ll be doing instead of eating wedding cake
I’m really looking forward to it, even though I just checked and it’s gonna be 95 degrees. (Fun Fact: Members of the British diplomatic corps get hazardous duty pay if and when they are stationed in St. Louis; the climate is that harsh.) Well, at least I don’t have to stress out about sweaty pantyhose. Heck, I’m not even packing a dress. Just plenty of carrot-proof clothing.
The only wedding hotter than a St. Louis wedding? A Carlyle wedding. This sweaty event was one of Roger’s
Oh, before I forget. The picture at the top of this post is of another wedding I didn’t get to go to. It was The Child’s first wedding; the one at the Grand Canyon. I didn’t feel bad about not going — it was during the pandemic and nobody could go. (Though of course I wrote about it: see “Runaway Bride” for details and amazing height-defying photos.)
Whooping it up with The Bride and my Favorite Sister at Wedding #2
The Kids had another wedding a year later that people could actually go to. I’ve written about that one too, in “Two Weddings Are Better Than One.” In fact, I’ve probably written about weddings more than any other topic, except maybe His Dudeness, who has been a treasure trove of good material.
And, of course, there’s this guy. I’m just getting started on him.
But back to weddings. Like I say, I love them. All of them. The hot ones. The cold ones. The wet ones. Even the really really looong religious ones. Why, I even went to the wedding of two FBI agents. The bride was, of course, beautifully begowned in white — and packing heat. (Another Fun Fact: FBI agents are always armed, even when they are off-duty and reciting wedding vows.
No, this wasn’t the wedding where the bride and groom were packing heat. In fact, it was rather chilly
I can honestly say that I’ve never regretted going to a wedding. Though I have regretted not going to them. I’m still kicking myself for not going to My Oldest Younger Brother’s, and not just because it was in Vegas. After all, weddings should trump trips — even trips with Dr. Dude.
I’ll end by saying that this weekend I’m sure I’ll not regret not going to that wedding in St. Louis. I will be otherwise engaged.
Amagansett, New York. June 2025
