Wednesday, June 11



This weekend I got to witness two fabulous people get hitched in style as the sun set over sleepy Decatur County, Tenn. (site of the last wedding I went to, oddly enough; apparently Parsons/Decaturville is right up there with cinnamon rolls and oysters as an effective aphrodisiac). It was classy and sweet and funny and genuine and all sorts of nice things that made me feel pretty silly for being so (supposedly) unsentimental. I loved seeing the mohawked hipster kids picking fruit and cheese straws from the same buffet as the grannies and the ruddy uncles. I loved sipping clandestine liquor drinks out of red plastic cups prepared out of a car trunk. I loved the muscadine vines and the cherry tree and the white globe lights strung like low-lying linear constellations. I loved the nephews doing roundhouse kicks on the dance floor and the nieces being prim and helpful. I loved stepping away from the white-clothed tables to spray scentless Off! all over my limbs. I loved the silly dancing (which I merely observed for documentary purposes) and the celebratory smoking of Black & Milds. I loved all the laughter and how close I got to getting choked up over all the goodwill in the air.

And I loved the feeling that the whole thing was the beginning of something so much bigger for two pretty amazing people.

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