Stacy's wedding: Warning- I use the V-word (and I don't mean "vow")

What's a wedding without a confetti cannon? Let alone MULTIPLE confetti cannons! The orchestration of the wedding ceremony was fraught with symbolism. From the vows accompanied by a melodic lawn mower to the distant roar of gunfire that synchronized the kiss. Guests seated in the back row were entertained by the guy in the shiny suit who was terrorized by a bee as the marriage officiant summed up his message, stating that we all know that Adam was jealous of Eve. I've heard of cannon envy but this was a revelation. "Jealous of what," I discreetly whispered, "...her vagina?" My husband glared at me which further solidified this novel theory that he was jealous of me.

Our friend Stacy, the bride, was radiant wearing her mother's refurbished gown. Ripping off the poof-y sleeves that embodied the 80s, the dress was re-styled with exposed shoulders and arms that reflected the bride's sparkling personality while honoring her mom. I, on the other hand, was wearing an outfit reminiscent of Minnie Mouse and Marilyn Monroe. I was shaped like Minnie and my dress kept trying to fly above my head like Marilyn's. Classic.

We sat with our friends Vicki and Colin because they were located in close proximity of the nacho cheese station which sported a rapid release valve (Oops...now we're back to why men are jealous of us again). No amount of warning could prevent the flow of cheesy lava from filling our plates. Frantic calls of "bring more chips" filled the room.

Conversation topics were lively and engaging. "So..." I said, leaning in with interest, "what IS the difference between a round hay-bale and a square one?" "Where are you from?" asked a distinguished older gentleman on oxygen to my daughter while I promised Colin that, one day...far into the future, I could officiate at his wedding with a jaunty combination of haiku poetry, sign language gleaned from my established knowledge of The Pledge of Allegiance and The Star Spangled Banner as well as interpretive dance. He seemed receptive.

While Sydney was being chatted up by a man sporting an attractive bear claw necklace, I shared my rule with Colin about how Sydney is not allowed to date anyone wearing a gold chain necklace thicker than 1/16th of an inch (Here goes that jealousy thing again...the officiant was really onto something!). Exception:  The Eric Hosmer Rule. The Kansas City Royals first baseman can wear whatever he wants. Colin agreed that all good parents should immediately implement this rule.

We congratulated the bride on her marriage and her amazing wedding favors when she stopped by our table. The hypnotic quality of the wedding favor increased exponentially with each cup of rum punch we consumed. "The sticker is on the INSIDE," I whispered in awe, scratching the surface of the glass bottle repeatedly with my nail, "HOW did she do this?" Stacy revealed the laborious magic trick that required Q-tips and Hodge-Podge ("Hodge-Podge" is like glue, Savannah," I whisper-shouted discreetly to my daughter across the table. "I'm not stupid, Mom," she reassured me, "Here, have ANOTHER cup of rum punch.") accompanied by a great deal of patience and dexterity. We were further awed learning that the bride had printed on the minuscule labels herself and cut each teeny-tiny tag out with fancy scissors. "That is AMAZING," I told her. "How many rum punches have you had?" Brad murmured in my ear as he moved my glass away. "We should do a shot," Stacy suggested, dashing off with her bridesmaid, Lindsey. "Oh no," Brad groaned, glancing at his watch, "Do you think maybe it's time to leave?" 

"Don't worry, Mrs. Mosiman, it's Patrón," Lindsey reassured me as we saluted the bride. I'm not sure why that should have reassured me. 

Tammy Wynette's beautiful rendition of "Stand By Your Man," filled the room. It seemed an unlikely selection as Stacy was more of a "Kick Your Man in the Can" rather than a "Stand By Your Man" type of gal but I sighed happily as I listened. "Don't you just love Tammy Wynette," I said. "I do," Brad answered, "but that ISN'T Tammy Wynette. It's Kelly." Yup. The bride's sister was killing it!

I watched as an impromptu dance circle began. Sydney and our friend Reggie took turns showing off their best moves. Stacy tugged me out so I could teach everyone how to shuffle side-to-side awkwardly while alternately touching your right and then left elbow. It took awhile but almost everyone caught on.

It was starting to get rather warm. I eyed up the roomy ice-water hydration bins. I dipped a tentative toe in when Brad made the executive decision that it was time to go. "I was thinking sprinkling more than immersion," I reassured him as he led me out the door. "Whether it was a dip or a dunk...it's still schematics," he explained, opening the truck door for me, "you still breached the walls of good etiquette." I giggled immaturely the rest of the ride home. That wedding message really resonates.