smokingboot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smokingboot) wrote2004-07-07 10:53 am
smokingboot) wrote2004-07-07 10:53 am
Handfasting of doom
I am trying to keep my good humour.
A friend of mine is getting married. She would like a handfasting on the same day. She asked me to do it for her, and I can't, and now, I am struggling against a rain of gentle emotional blackmail, pouty little messages sprinkled with phrases like: 'I just don't think I want to go through with it at all without you,' and 'I so wanted us to share wedding memories.' Why? Is she marrying me? Maybe I should buy a tux.
Putting this into perspective, I physically can't reach this woman's wedding unless I take a plane from Glasgow to Stanstead the night before. The rite is something she wrote herself (tremble all ye who know her) and is, I quote, 'Much smaller than [insert name of other handfasted chum] because I wanted something simple.' Simple? It is a thing of druidic complexity, varrst and incomprehensible, including such fascinating traditions as rings on poles. To add to the jollity, the priest just phoned me in a panic, asking if I recommended him to her. Now, what she told me was that she bumped into him at Witchfest and he offered to help. What he has just told me is that she collared him, said I'd recommended him and would he do it with me. He and his lovely lady can and will do it, but they barely know her or the groom, and she hasn't sent them a copy of her titanic ritual. Wait til they see it!
I love her dearly, but I swear she lives on Planet Zomba, or at the very least, speaks fluent Zombese and * all else. I want her to be happy, but this is the second or third time her happiness has relied on me travelling the length of the country, and sometimes I just can't do it. Enough is enough. I am not this woman's mother.
There, out with the whining. Another story sits in my head, and I am running out of time. Too much to do!
A friend of mine is getting married. She would like a handfasting on the same day. She asked me to do it for her, and I can't, and now, I am struggling against a rain of gentle emotional blackmail, pouty little messages sprinkled with phrases like: 'I just don't think I want to go through with it at all without you,' and 'I so wanted us to share wedding memories.' Why? Is she marrying me? Maybe I should buy a tux.
Putting this into perspective, I physically can't reach this woman's wedding unless I take a plane from Glasgow to Stanstead the night before. The rite is something she wrote herself (tremble all ye who know her) and is, I quote, 'Much smaller than [insert name of other handfasted chum] because I wanted something simple.' Simple? It is a thing of druidic complexity, varrst and incomprehensible, including such fascinating traditions as rings on poles. To add to the jollity, the priest just phoned me in a panic, asking if I recommended him to her. Now, what she told me was that she bumped into him at Witchfest and he offered to help. What he has just told me is that she collared him, said I'd recommended him and would he do it with me. He and his lovely lady can and will do it, but they barely know her or the groom, and she hasn't sent them a copy of her titanic ritual. Wait til they see it!
I love her dearly, but I swear she lives on Planet Zomba, or at the very least, speaks fluent Zombese and * all else. I want her to be happy, but this is the second or third time her happiness has relied on me travelling the length of the country, and sometimes I just can't do it. Enough is enough. I am not this woman's mother.
There, out with the whining. Another story sits in my head, and I am running out of time. Too much to do!
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Deep breath...
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Surely not [Bad username or site: caffeine fairy @ livejournal.com]?