Getting a Leg Up
When I remember V.’s wedding, this will always be the first picture that comes to mind: wrestling in her king-sized bed, five of us altogether, in various states of undress. All decently clothed, mind you, but having shifted by degrees from afternoon formal attire to hoodies over blouses, bare feet because of blisters, pants against the chill.
It all began with a steamroller, the move made famous in Strange Brew. But, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, and as usual, the over-thinking and the stress had stripped me of ten pounds in as many days, despite my efforts to remain tough and strong. S. had me in a submission hold in five seconds flat and after bouncing victoriously atop my belly, took down L. and A., too. Just to prove she can.
S.’s son shot photos while his mother wrestled her best friends, skirts flipping and language slipping, and flasks of bourbon and scotch poured hand to mouth. The next morning, we joked about the therapy the little dude may someday require, then thought back to some of the things we’d watched our own parents do. Hmmmmm, we hummed, did this prove we’d turned out ok after all, or reinforce our concerns about young F.?
More to come on the wedding itself, its high points along with the above-noted lows. The day was more civilised than the evening might suggest, and now and then, we all even behaved.