I, bastard daughter of the mailman, take you, mutant ogre
While I myself have been getting all hot and bothered with a new body in my life (and this time it's actually alive too), it appears my sister went and got herself all fallen-in-love-like. In fact, yesterday the entire Smoog clan reunited under one roof for the first time in 20 years to witness the ceremonial tossing of the ex-husband's name out the window (while the ex-husband looked on admiringly) as she and her extremely large mate got hitched.
come hither - back off
I mean huge.
All right, it probably doesn't help that my sister is a small-boned 5'4". We're still trying to figure out who my mother fucked to conceive her, because the rest of us are built like draft picks for the NFL Therefore, the side-by-side comparison of the loving couple led to some rather giggly imagined scenarios of how they worked around the logistics in bed. I'm thinking some kind of complex pulley-and-rope contraption. My older brother suspects they just ensure she's always on top and that he is strapped firmly to the bed to avoid any love-throed rollover and accidental death by crushing. The guy is a monster. Really. He could be cast as a large ogre or mutant in whatever fantasy film you can drum up. He's easily 7'6''. No, really. He must be a middle-aged retired pro basketball player. He also has girth. Much girth. He's full of girth. He is a girthful freakishly tall mutant ogre, which is generally the only appropriate mate for someone in the Smoog clan, if you ask me.
And yes, you did hear me correctly. It has been 20 years since both parents and all four siblings have shared the same oxygen. In fact, the last time we were all together was during my sister's first wedding. Perhaps she should get married more often. We do like each other. Well, sort of. I don't really know my siblings, so I can't confirm my overall internal liking of their presence. I could get to know them better, but it just takes so much effort. You have to call them, then look at your calendar and find a mutually convenient time for interaction, then get on a bus and drag your ass across town, then drum up the cash to cover coffee and a muffin for two instead of one. Really, who would do all that?
What's a little odd about this situation is that, when we are together, we produce an endless stream of Smoog-filled silly talk. It's genetic. And very fun. The cast of Monty Python could have used us as raw material, just shut us up in a glass box and taken notes while feeding us bananas and Twinkies. You would think this would encourage at least one of us to reach out and touch someone. However, we all appear to have some kind of deep-seated paranoia that, should we actually spend more time together, we could potentially cause some kind of matter / anti-matter explosion and rip the very fabric of the known universe. What? It could happen.
I suspect, frankly, that we avoid a full gathering of family to ensure that we can all maintain our personal delusions about what really happened in our past. The more witnesses there are to denounce our version of the story, the more difficult it becomes to hold on to our mental security blanket. We could all well end up sucking our thumbs while curled up in a fetal position under the table.
OK, fine - we could end up like that more often.
The wedding was held in the Tucker Amphitheatre of Citadel Theatre. It was airy, spacious, and had all kinds of running, trickling, flowing water everywhere, which would have been fine if it hadn't been for the 3 cups of coffee I had drunk before arrival. In fact, I was lucky to arrive at all. In the process of doing a load of laundry so that I could actually make my obligatory familial appearance without the presence of cat urp on my shoulder and grape juice stains on my lapel, I decided to rest my head while waiting for the underwear to dry - and fell asleep. I relaxingly woke up, blinked, yawned, stretched - and saw the time. 4 pm. The wedding was at 4:45. AGH! Once again, it was necessary to put the "get ready in five minutes and yet still manage to look semi presentable because you slept through your alarm" region of my brain on high alert, but I made it, and with time to spare. I even remembered to pull out a pair of underwear from the dryer and put them on. They were very pleasantly toasty. But that's another story.
It was a typical wedding. During my wait for the ceremony to begin, I was forced to listen to the piped in balladic strains of such greats as Michael Bolton and Shania Twain for half an hour. It was so bad my mother's ears actually started to bleed. My sister wore a very satiny, lacy, pearly wedding dress that was either tan or peach (I couldn't determine, but obviously she opted out of white, considering she had 3 kids already). It had a big-ass train that, after the ceremony as she milled around doing meet-and-greets, slowly enwrapped itself around her lower body like some kind of frilly anaconda about to consume her whole. I expected her to topple over at any time, but somehow she remained upright. Impressive what a blushing bride can do in a pinch. Frankly, I thought the thing was butt fucking ugly, but then, my idea of a great wedding ensemble is a Hawaiian shirt and bermuda shorts, with a rack of ribs in one hand and a beer in the other.
There was a moment of awkwardness during a deeply symbolic portion of the event, the lighting of a "unity candle" using two smaller candles on each side of it. It wouldn't light. Not at all. Not ever. They rammed those candles into its wick, got lighters out, scraped away the wax off the string, got out blowtorches, and napalmed that sucker, but still - nothing. Then there was the cyclist who obviously took a wrong turn and wandered across the wedding area looking puzzled but intrigued. Thankfully the man had enough decency to walk his bike around the ceremony instead of peddling through it, although it could have made for interesting entertainment if my sister's train had been swept up in the gears and she was sucked into the bike's back wheel.
Some crazed idiot gave my mother a digital camera for the event, and she spent the entire time walking over the laps of onlookers trying to get a good angle. At one point, she walked all the way around the group to lean over a hand railing that led to a 3 storey drop into a large pool below. My mother will do anything for a good shot, even if it involves rappelling down the side of a cliff using nothing more than some chewing gum and a shoelace. She came close to going over the edge. You could hear the held breaths in the room. Of course, this was going on at the most crucial moment of the wedding, the reading of the vows, so no one actually heard my sister and her ogre agreeing to stick around if the other one caught leprosy or grew an extra head. I would assume they went through with it, considering they must already go through logistical hell to get their respective genitalia to reach each other.
I didn't stay for the reception. Sure, there was free food and booze, but I'm on a diet and wouldn't have been able to partake anyway. Besides, wandering around a large group of drunken family members is really not my idea of a good time - or, should I say, is really not their idea of a good time. I usually have loads of fun, but due to the nature of my mouth and inability to censor anything that comes out of it, I can easily cause mass havoc. In fact, I almost slipped up during a smoke break with my younger brother and his girlfriend while waiting for the cab to take me home. He and I haven't seen each other in about 8 or 9 years, even though we presently live in the same city and have done for 3 of them. I think we've talked on the phone twice, and both times he got stoned while chatting. I was thinking out loud trying to recall our last meeting, and remembered it was when he took a break from air traffic controller's school in the mighty metropolis of Cornwall, Ontario (I swear the place was formally a Nazi internment camp) and came to visit me in Toronto for the weekend. It did not turn into some kind of sibling bonding session because I hardly saw any of him, due to the fact that he became rather taken with my very male, very gay good friend Jeff. I was explaining this to his girlfriend, and actually managed to catch the terrified look on my brother's face as I said, "Oh, I hardly saw any of him even then, because he was thoroughly enjoying himself with--" The gears in my brain smoked and sparked as the rusty, malfunctioning emergency brake in my head was slammed into action, and I actually managed to finish the sentence with, "--Uh, with the whole city at his disposal. Cornwall can do that to a person."
I am so proud of myself. I actually managed to keep from breaking up my younger brother's relationship, or anyone else's at the wedding. I may actually be getting pretty good at this whole family stuff, after all.
As long as my brother's girlfriend doesn't read this.
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