I have watched The Wedding, and that pretty much sums up my entire weekend.
On Thursday night, the boy had his annual chili supper and carnival at his school, which seems to be the highlight of the year for the kids, as they shove hot dogs into their bellies and run wildly by the tattoo parlor table, emerging minutes later bedecked with a variety of Sponge Bob and ship anchor tatts.
The boy, himself, had four tattoos lined up on one arm, and six on the other. After that, he visited the face painting booth, where he came out looking like King Tut, as he had requested that the make-up artist rim his eyes with kohl. She obliged him, and then promptly sent him on his way. I think it goes without saying that he was a vision when Hubs and I hauled him home on Thursday evening, as he looked like he’d experienced a very rough after-prom party in a dark neighborhood of Cairo. I have never been more thankful for the healing powers of soap and water than I was just before bedtime on Thursday.
Hubs and Enzo’s dad, Mark, spent most of Thursday cooking chili in the school’s kitchen, and I snapped a picture of them with my phone, because Hubs + Apron = NEVER.
We all tried our hand at working the serving line, as approximately fourteen million families came through, requesting big bowls of piping-hot chili and hot dogs liberally smeared with mustard. I have to say that I may have just found my life’s calling, as I had an absolute blast dishing chili into bowls and slapping boiled dogs into buns. If I’m ever in the mood to take on a third job, I may start applying at some of the cafeterias around this town. My good friend, Nicky, who is a first grade teacher at the boy’s school, and I served chili side-by-side, and, as can be expected, I did tend to talk a little much with everyone who came through the line, until Hubs and Mark began shouting, “Enough! You two girls are holding up the line with your chit-chat! Keep it moving!”
After an hour of serving chili and talking until I was hoarse, I learned that the kitchen was approximately the temperature of hell, and I began to sweat in my plastic gloves. It didn’t take long before my hair had lost every bit of bounce that it had once had, and I felt like I’d been through the ringer because of SO HOT! And then Mark turned with a full ladle of chili and slopped it all over the sleeve of my uber-cute, yellow denim jacket.
I doubt that it will come as any surprise that I left the carnival, toting young Tutankhamun behind me, with a headache the size of the Texas Annexation.
I pushed through the pain at home to make sure that the DVR was set to record ALL THINGS ROYAL, and then suffered a minor stroke of some kind when a message box popped up on the TV which read, “You Do Not Have Enough Memory Space on Your DVR to Record What You Have Requested.”
You can thank eight hundred episodes of Glenn Beck, an entire season of Avalanche hockey, three thousand episodes of Pawn Stars and two Phineas and Ferb shows for that.
Hubs was called to the TV, where I simply pointed at the DVR and said, “Unload some of it.” I may have used my Headache Voice to say that, too, which came out sounding like Cruella de Vil after she’d eaten a bowl of gravel.
By the time Hubs had picked and chosen which hockey games to save and which Glenn Beck shows could go, he’d freed up enough DVR space to record the wedding, and then he shouted out, “What? You need SIX FULL HOURS OF DVR SPACE FOR A WEDDING??!!”
People, I record nothing on our DVR. I don’t watch TV. Oh, I talk about TV shows all the time on this little blog, but it’s because Hubs and I watch old shows on discs sent to us by Netflix. I watch nothing on TV during the weeks; even Glee gets streamed into our home through Hulu. On Thursday night, I felt like I was entitled to six hours’ of space on our FAMILY DVR.
And then, with that little matter settled, I ate a Tylenol PM, took my migraine to bed, and promptly slept through the wedding, which I’d planned to get up for. And that, people, is why the DVR is such a blessing in life.
Because I had to work at our church office on Friday, I scrambled out there to turn my computer on, because I was dying to see The Dress.
And that’s when my computer flashed me the message, “Reconfiguring Windows. This May Take a Moment.”
Oh! The impatience of it all!
And while I was sitting there, waiting for all the reconfiguring THAT I HADN’T ASKED FOR to take place on my computer, it was suddenly made clear to me that I never would have been very successful at living in Bible times. Why, just getting dinner on back then would have involved singling out a calf from the herd, killing it, cutting it into some choice cuts of steak and trying not to gag at all the grossness THAT chore would have brought to me, seasoning it with Mrs. Dash, and cooking it over an open flame. While that was going on, I’d have had to make a trip through the wheat field, collecting grain to thresh and knead into a bread dough, which would have had to rise and be punched down so that it could rise again, and then I would have had to bake THAT in the hot coals as well.
And THAT, people, doesn’t even include the beverages! I’m sure that at this point, I would have just looked with weariness at Hubs and said, “Listen. I started preparing this dinner for you last Tuesday, and I’m too exhausted now to pick the grapes and crush them. Can you just run a jug of water over to Jesus’ house and bring back a nice Chardonnay? You can invite Him on over for dinner, too; I’ve got an entire calf cooked up here, and no refrigeration of any kind.”
And then I would have used my sackcloth dishtowel to pat at the sweat dripping down my face, just to emphasize my point.
My computer finished doing what it was doing on Friday morning, and Susan and I were online. We immediately brought up a video recap and fourteen different slide shows, and we both sighed and applauded when we saw Prince William kiss Kate on the balcony. I quickly fired off a text to Amy which said, “I have seen the kiss. My day is complete.” At that time, Pastor John walked into the office, and asked what we were up to. I simply looked at him and said, “I hope your expectations for productivity today are rather low, because we have a wedding to watch and many photos online to sort through; we’ve only JUST begun!”
Later on Friday morning, I had a text from Hubs which said, “Did you know that Prince William got married today??!! He married some commoner. Judy or Mary or Kate or something.”
And still…I keep that man!
On Friday afternoon, Amy swooped into the church office, where we quickly discussed The Dress in a rapid-fire conversation that was reminiscent of two squirrels slurping espressos while they bounced on a trampoline.
By the time I made it home at 4:15 on Friday afternoon, I was alone (as the boy had gone down to Hubs’ office after school to help him with some things there), and that is the exact moment when I came to a full understanding that I had NO STINKING IDEA how to run our DVR. I was quite optimistic, though, because I graduated from college with a 3.9 GPA (and I still growl over World and Regional Geography, Spring Semester, Senior Year, which drug me down!), and I guessed that the DVR couldn’t be THAT difficult to figure out.
I felt like Claire, on Modern Family, when she had to have her daughter teach her to use the TV. People, we have four remotes for our big screen. FOUR! I don’t even know what they all do, and I long for the days of yesteryear, when my family had a TV made by Montgomery Wards, where there was a simple dial on the front of it, and if you wanted to change the channel, you just turned that dial. (Not that we ever did change the channel back then, because we lived out of town, which was beyond the reaches of cable TV back then, and we only GOT one channel. But if we WANTED to change the channel, it was just as easy as turning the dial!)
Now I have 17,000 buttons to contend with, spread out across four different remotes, and although it’s second nature for my ten-year-old boy to run our TV and DVR like he’s the King of the NASA Command Center, I had to admit self-defeat and call Hubs.
He and the boy talked me through it, and I found Prince William and Kate, and Cat 1 and I settled into the recliner with a fuzzy blanket, and we were having a GRAND TIME together, until the boys came home.
I don’t know if y’all have ever watched a Royal Wedding with Hubs and the boy, but it is an experience to be avoided at all costs, because they talked non-stop through it, while the boy kept asking, “So what happens if Queen Elizabeth dies and Prince Charles dies and Prince William dies and then Prince Harry dies, too. Who is the king THEN? And whoa, Mom! Did you see THAT PIPE ORGAN in the church?! Holy cow! Look at those pipes! Go back! Go back so I can see the organ again!” I am self-taught at going backward on the DVR, so I did let him have a second INTENSE look at the church’s enormous pipe organ. After that, the questions returned. “What kind of car is that, Dad? Does it cost more than our house? Does it cost more than the White House? Does it cost more than THREE White Houses? Did they just say that Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms?! Oh, man! Why are those choir boys wearing ruffles around their necks? Boys don’t wear ruffles! That’s stupid! I’d never sing in that choir! I feel bad for them. Can’t Prince William just say, ‘The boys are not supposed to have ruffles on the collars of their choir robes?’ and then they could wear NORMAL BOY COLLARS, because Prince William said so?”
I only watched HALF of the wedding on Friday night, people, because what part of WATCHED IT WITH HUBS AND THE BOY didn’t you understand?!
It has been fully watched and this is what I would like to say.
1. Kate’s dress was fantastic, but I’m rather certain that Kate, being as cute as she is, could have worn a flour sack and been beautiful on her wedding day.
2. The dress that Kate’s sister, Pippa, wore was breath-taking! A show-stealer! I thought it was the highlight of the entire televised event! Oh, Pippa, honey! You rocked the fashion industry good and proper with that one! Well done, Girl! I will dream of that Dress of Sweet Perfection for years to come!
3. The cars that the wedding party arrived at the church in were spectacular, and it WASN’T BECAUSE they were flashy, pricey cars, either. They were spectacular because OH MY! They were so CLEAN! So perfectly clean! I had Glossy Car Envy! And I’m sure that none of those cars (Nay! Not a one!) had a backseat filled with ten-year-old-boy debris like my Suburban has at this very moment.
4. And then there was the hat.
Y’all know THE HAT OF WHICH I SPEAK.
Princess Beatrice’s hat left me plum speechless. I felt like I was supposed to hop on a broomstick for a quick game of Quidditch, as I attempted to get the quaffle through the elevated goals of THAT HAT.
For once, I wasn’t even upset with Hubs as he slowly asked, “What? In the world? Is on? Her head?!!!”
Here-here, Hubs! You called that one! That hat’s enough to cause anyone a Royal Migraine!
Happy Sunday night, y’all.