Drew left us a stack of paper today.
If you’ve been around for the past nearly 10 years, Drew was my one of my roommates in this house where this blog began. The Rev. Drew is also the officiant of my wedding.
He was in Charlottesville because his wife was at a conference, thus giving us a convenient time to meet and hash out some of the minutia of the wedding. Walking through the ceremony with a third party, albeit one that plays an integral part of the ceremony, was good. He brought up some things we hadn’t considered, and saying some things aloud made it more real, for a lack of better words.
One of the larger decisions we have to make is how the ceremony is going to run. First and foremost, I don’t want to offend my father-in-law at/with the ceremony, hence it occurring on a Sunday. (I can’t guarantee decorum from anyone I consider a friend at the rehearsal dinner or after the ceremony because they’re my friends.) Secondly, we decided to have a somewhat traditional ceremony.
By somewhat, I mean we’re going to plow through long-form and short-form traditional ceremonies, along with a contemporary one, and use our favorite parts. We agreed a while ago that we weren’t going to write our own vows or do something incredibly quirky but we didn’t want a full Catholic Wedding Mass, mostly because we aren’t Catholic. We have time for the task ahead of us.
How much time, I don’t know. Renée is good with numbers. She knows. I can only multiply by eight because this is one of my favorite songs.
But I digress.
My mom has her hotel room booked. The wedding site is effectively finished. Everyone who’s not an ass who isn’t going to respectfully decline or is going to just show up has RSVP’d (to those people, and you know who you are, you know I still love you).
And I have my suit.
It’s a half-secret.
It fits well.
It came via UPS today because I’m one of the lucky few who can buy something off the rack with little to no tailoring. I thought about wearing my made-to-measure tux but I wanted to be different and wear something that wasn’t a part of my wardrobe in spring 2001. Although it’s awesome that I can fit into something that’s 13 years old.
Anyway, I wondered how it the world a suit was getting shipped to me.
It comes in a box. A ludicrously large box.
It was still wrinkled all to hell, but I was going to get it pressed anyway . Also, I need to wear it in front of someone with a critical eye, who isn’t my mother, to make absolutely certain it fits me well. I’m beginning to get a bit of a belly like my Uncle Wilson, and I can’t remember the last time I did an ab exercise that wasn’t called digestion. My weight loss has stagnated; in fact, I’ve gained 20 pounds in the past two years.
Whatever. I’m getting married in less than 60 days; I don’t need to look svelte for anybody anymore. But I don’t want to buy new pants. I like my current pants.
But I digress.
Postscript: I’ll never forget the first time I formally met Drew. It was junior year in college when I lived in Barclay. I wasn’t fully expecting to give anyone a ride to wherever we were going when I got pressed into service. I was blasting the fifth track of A Tribe Called Quest’s Midnight Marauders. Talk about a first impression. Eleven years later, I’m glad to call him my officiant and my brother. It’s Great to Be a Tau Delt.