Sign of the Something
Last weekend, i reunited with family members i hadn’t seen in a decade or so to celebrate the wedding of my cousin Ashley, who is now one-half of Mr. and Mrs. Brandon S. (I tried very hard not to visibly shudder each time this label was announced). Amongst the issue of my grandparents and their siblings, my clan of six is the only cluster to venture further than Iowa; this event was something of an ordeal. Current Mood:
When it came time to toss the bouquet, i tried rather unsuccessfully to slink under the table unnoticed. With verbal prodding by my mother and physical assistance from second cousin Jamie or Cheyenne (identical twins I can no longer tell apart), i begrudgingly traipsed toward the back of the gathering crowd. For my part, i dragged poor older sister Robby, who spent the entire evening fielding questions about when she and Paul would solidify their relationship with the force of law (a question undoubtedly more awkward for Paul, who had met the numerous inquirers no more than twice and was therefore unable to politely adopt Robyn’s response, which amounted to “shove off,” in slightly less british terms).
As Robby and i cursed the stupid tradition, Ashley threw the flowers over her shoulder with a bit more arch than necessary or practical, prompting them to bounce off the escalator we had so wisely congregated underneath. Ten-year-old first-cousin-once-removed Sierra boldly rushed forward, swept the bouquet from the ground, and held it up triumphantly, secure in the knowledge that she will be the next to marry.
And according to my mother, she may very well be. “Sign of the times,” she proclaimed as we returned to the tables. “Huh?” Robyn and i inquired simultaneously, trying to ascertain whether we were somehow being slighted. “As the bouquet was released, the crowd collectively recoiled. Sierra was quite apparently the only one in the group with any interest in being married; the rest of you stared at it as if poison. Sign of the times,” she said again, before venturing to the next table to share her observations with a different generation, filled with those who might appreciate the novelty of such reactions.
“Sign of the something,” i joked to Robyn who smiled knowingly. “So, when are you and Paul going to tie the knot?”
Erin McKeown - You Were Right About Everything