Now, it is not every day, nor even many days, that one attends a wedding remarkable both for the open bar and the actual bride-on-groom physical violence during the ceremony.

But it was Saturday.

I really have to get out to more weddings.

So the ceremony was going well. Going normally. The bride and groom wanted it to be a bit different, and it was, a bit, what with the ceremony being outside in the heart of March in Canada, no less, but it wasn’t, like, nudist or anything. As Miss Manners has said so eloquently, a nudist wedding is one where everyone can see who the best man is.

So, only normally different.
There was the heart. A raku heart, which each of the guests was to hold for a moment and pray over. But that wasn’t the weird part. I mean, putting crappy fruitcake under your pillow to give you hallucinogenic dreams???? So the raku heart is supposed to be weird and that’s supposed to be normal? Riiiiiiiiiight.

So they were saying their vows. And he said his very nicely, although everyone could tell he was nervous because his Anglo-Aussie accent was asserting itself. And then she said hers.

“I, so-and-so, take you, whatchername, to be my husband.”

SMACK!

Right across the face, from left to right, a good old-fashioned Bond Girl smack.

Couldn’t help myself. I said, “Is that an Okanagan tradition?”

Okay, so there’s a back story involving a mosquito and spousal solicitiveness…I don’t buy it for a second. I saw the groom’s face, and it quite clearly said,

“Sweetie, couldn’t you save it for the honeymoon?”