My new favourite sound is the pop of a champagne cork. There was lots of popping this weekend to officially celebrate the engagement of The Butterfly and The Penguin. Saturday saw 364 days until the wedding. Not even a little rain could damper our mood or the bonfire.
Sarge’s best man has a burning twice year. Bits of wood and old furniture go up in flames in the name of friendship and film references. This time, we called it an Engagement Burning and toasted marshmallows and bubbly.
A lot of the photos featured a chicken hat. And me stuffing my face. When I wasn’t eating, I was laughing. Or exclaiming ‘I’m getting freakin’ married’, at which point I would hug Sarge. Or a member of the Bridal Crew. Or my Dad. Whoever was with closer.
At various points during the day, I thought of people who couldn’t be there. And I had a moment for each of them. And then we got serenaded under a gazebo by the only friend I have who has curlier hair than I do.
Dad wore his beard hat, which looks surprisingly like his own beard. There in the rain with Dad on one side and Sarge on the other I thought, best day ever. And then Dad said, ‘I’ll be alright.’
‘Yes. Best day ever,’ I said aloud.
‘So far,’ said Sarge.
Most people left to catch the last train, but there was dancing and singing in the living-room until 3 AM. Everything from Queen to Edith Piaf to Starship. And nostalgia mixed with YouTube and cider results in The Macarena.
‘Lorna, turn off the video.’
‘It’s not on. Iforgottopressthebutton.’
The next day, after coming home with cards and flowers and a patched up flat tire, the conversation went something like this:
‘If you delete the video, I’ll delete that photo of you and the marshmallow skewer,’ said Sarge.
‘Deal,’ I said.
Our relationship is based on love, respect and lack of blackmail evidence.
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