the remoulade incident

last night my friend julie lockwood exchanged her last name for pechacek as she got married to my friend chris. the wedding itself was like them, direct and to the point, but done in a very beautiful manner. i liked it when the pastor described their marital union as two individuals who will not lose themselves, but become more of who they are in the augmenting of the other. her dress, one of the main focal points of the evening had this great train with several sharp planes extending from it, looking almost like graceful origami or the lines of an egret. all the groomsmen wore tuxes with white cumberbuns and the bridesmaids wore black satin halter dresses and elbow length black satin gloves. it's fun getting all dolled up from time to time.

i have this thing with weddings. in most of life, i would say i carry myself with grace, but that all goes out the window when i'm a bridesmaid... i got through the entire ceremony unscathed; i thought, "i am home free!"

we arrived at the reception fashionably late, all pimped out in a stretch limo- a way i have never before experienced san francisco. of course we or i was hungry, having eaten the last little morsel at noon and it's now 9:45 p.m. this waiter walks by with a tray of mushroom caps, of which i snag one and a few minutes later we are announced and walk into the main room. the lovely best man and equally lovely maid of honor gave these lengthy speeches while the waiter carried around some form of sushi- ick.

when the waiter came by with a tray of crabcakes, i thought i'd died and gone to new orleans heaven. my black gloved hand picked one up, not caring it might stain my glove and as i'm dipping the crabcake into remoulade sauce, i hear my name several times being yelled out. instinctively i think something's wrong with the crabcake- maybe they have x-ray vision and can see it's actually salmon. nonetheless i turn and look at the bride who is frantic, rushing over to me declaring she needs help fixing her train.

i look down at my gloved black finger, its tip covered with remoulade sauce. i'm standing with sara, another bridesmaid who opens her hands for me to transfer the messy crabcake, with me feeling really remiss in not getting to finish it off, the photographer jumps at this "candid" moment and snaps all these photos. grumpy annelies comes out and i lick the remoulade off my satin wrapped finger and then wipe it on a napkin. after which i help adjust the train and all is solved. though my crabcake is no more.