Paul and I went to a wedding for one of his relatives on Saturday. I don’t think I was actually invited to it.
I was invited to the bridal shower last month and weaseled my way out of it by blaming my dented car–which, by the way, is now fixed, but the other driver’s insurance company wanted me to take half the blame, my insurance company advised me not to, and the two companies are duking it out in arbitration–and then Paul mentioned going to the wedding. Now, I think it’s terrible wedding etiquette and really rude to take extra people, like your kids’ significant others, to a wedding if they’re not invited, and I made that very clear to Paul and added that it made me uncomfortable to tag along to a wedding if I wasn’t explicitly invited. His response was, “But they always account for dates at weddings,” and my response was a calm, less profane, “No they fucking don’t. Weddings are expensive and you can’t just take whoever the fuck you want.”
He did ask his sister, who insisted it was okay, so I agreed. Now, I have a feeling “okay” means “no plus one on the invitation but this family seems to think throwing extra people in is perfectly fine,” but other than being a super stubborn bitch and refusing to go unless I saw the words “plus one” with my own eyes, I couldn’t do much.
It was a nice, fun wedding, though. I’m on a quest to get Paul to loosen up and dance like a human, as opposed to a “marionette”–his description, not mine, although it’s frighteningly accurate. I decreed we shall take professional ballroom dance lessons before we get married.
Sunday night, we went to a murder mystery dinner up in the mountains by my parents’ house at this winery. I found a good Groupon deal for it–basically two for the price of one–and I’ve always thought murder mystery dinners sounded fun, so we trekked up for it. It was a fun, somewhat cheesy, pre-Halloween good time. It started with a wine tasting, and Paul and I our notorious for being easy drunks when it comes to wine–sleepy ones, too. And sure, we could’ve done the proper thing and spit it out, but fuck no, wine! Most of it was alright, although I’m admittedly not the biggest wine fan–but we did find two we really loved. We meant to buy them, but the dinner ran later than we thought, we both had to be up early for work, and we figured we could pick some up another weekend since my parents live about 20 minutes away.
The dinner itself wasn’t too impressive–typical catered dinner. The murder mystery part was fun, and if I would’ve gone with my gut, I would’ve been right. But what happens when you stick two writers in a whodunit? They dismiss the most obvious suspect as a red herring. But our theory as to who did it and why was solid.
And then I got a cold, and I suspect I’ll be calling in sick one day this week. In the meantime, I’ve found wasabi, onions, and Benadryl to be helpful.