Mother of the Groom

Apparently being Mother of the Groom kills the blogger in me. The wedding was in February and I haven't blogged since. (The date at the top marks the moment I gave up.) We've all seen enough movies to know that a wedding is either ripe for comic relief ( yes!) or soggy with tears and we all know Brits hate being caught soggy and sentimental.

Re comic relief: my main concern was that I might well be it. So I did put out an advisory early on that if a family member caught sight of me at the reception twirling gently in a corner by myself, glass in hand or not, they should tow me quietly back to my seat.

But I did do some dancing with friends while Dr. Motes closed his eyes. (It had been a long day.) I knew all the stuff the DJ played because I listen to MIA, etc. down in the orchid house when I get tired of NPR and Deficit Spending and a Sensible Exit From Afghanistan.

Re soggy with tears: There was no reason to cry. In this vast country the happy couple are going to be living not on the other side of purple majesty and a thousand miles of golden grain, but in Coral Gables, just down the road.

Note: Have lived long enough in US to call forty minutes of hard driving "just down the road."(In UK that would be "We'll never see them" sniff -"they're halfway to Manchester!")

Second Note: Just after the wedding I was watching the Academy Awards as always, and was at one with every star on the red carpet. I too had squeezed into something long and shiny. (Ah! Hello Spanx!) - I too had my hair and face 'done' so that, like Meryl Streep as Margaret Thatcher, I could hardly recognize myself.

Oh, the wedding? Wonderful. Beautiful. Perfect. (Sniff) -Stiff upper lip! It was definitely a jolly good show.