When I was in my early 20’s, I accompanied one of my girlfriends to a wedding dance in her hometown; a place where I knew no one. Back then, we were drinking buddies who met in University residence and when it came to the booze, we “didn’t mess around”.
I don’t remember much about that night other than the events leading up to something that COULD have easily been a disaster, and a bride’s worst nightmare. At this point in my life I was also what you might consider a gentlemen’s woman and pretty much every gentleman who met me, had an unsettling urge to twirl me around a dance floor (and I mean that literally). Being a little girl with almost teen-like features, I was a fan favourite as a two step, jive, or boogie woogie partner because anyone can throw around 100lbs and still look macho doing it.
At this particular event, I had had my fair share of loonie refreshments and was tearing up the dance floor with a friend of my date. We were unstoppable. Until my dance partner got a little too ambitious with the twirling and I fell to my social death. Due to my lack of inhibition, my personal embarrassment was short lived, but when I fell I narrowly missed the wedding cake which was sitting there – beautiful and virgin; not yet cut for the guests to enjoy.
This is a story my girlfriend and I often relive; folklore we share with new (and old) friends to make a point or to catalyze laughter and kinship. Today I am telling it to argue the point that my niece should have been my daughter and the apple did not fall far from the tree.
My brother was married to his love over the weekend, and there wasn’t as much drinking on my part this time (because I’m old as shit and had a third wheel), but the cake was again almost brought to its knees. As my parents were welcoming the bride into our family through a wonderful speech in front of 150 people, my adorable and energetic two year old niece was playing behind them. With one of her favourite games being hide and (sometimes seek, but mostly “hide”), she happened to choose the tablecloth of the cake table to tug and hide underneath. Her Mother gasped. Her Auntie (me) panicked, pointed, chuckled, and struggled to get her phone out in time to capture the precious moment. Who knows what could have happened if the conditions were slightly different, but I’m glad we both only ALMOST ruined someone’s wedding day.
We’re just two peas in a pod.