Good morning, Erin. You don’t really know me, and I don’t really know you, but I wanted to thank you for inviting me to your wedding last weekend. It was a beautiful service.
You picked a good man to marry. Todd is an old friend. He’s moral, kind, loud-mouthed, and he can handle more adult beverages than any man I’ve ever known because he is Episcopal.
He is giving. Once, I saw him empty his wallet and give it to a handful of Hispanic boys outside the hardware store.
It was cold weather. They were looking for an honest day’s work. They were wearing T-shirts. He gave them a handful of cash to buy coats. That’s your new husband.
Anyway, it was a nice ceremony. They tell me that you and your mother decorated the chapel all by yourselves—and on a puny budget. It was breathtaking.
People in the vestibule were talking about how beautiful it was, just as soon as they walked through the doors. The white colors, the draped
linen, the floral arrangements, and magnolia blossoms.
Somebody’s red headed toddler was running around in the back pews. And not that this is an issue, but he’d messed in his britches. We all know this because we could smell him.
His mother chased him, she was livid. She wore the angry face of Satan, adorned with pearls and heels. She couldn’t catch the kid. He eluded her grasp, then ran toward the altar of God just before the wedding started.
He waved hello to the congregation.
We waved back.
And once his furious mother caught him, we all knew this redhead would not see his next birthday.
Anyway, I was sitting beside your aunt and uncle. They were country people, and I have a soft spot for country people. These are the sort I come from.
They were beaming with pride…