Twinkle: Family Wedding Weekend

Just a few thoughts from a Mr. Twinkle family wedding this weekend:


Rehearsal Dinner Bluegrass Band: The rehearsal dinner was in a barn at Hubers, complete with fried chicken and delicious Southern veggies, Hubers wine and beer, and a great bluegrass band--really a fun event (especially for out-of-towners), but this particular part of Mr. Twinkle's family is uncharacteristically fun and normal. The bluegrass band was playing lots of country classics, and I was just thrilled when they started my all-time favorite song, Dead Flowers. Mr. Twinkle and I were enjoying it, singing along a little, and MIL and her brother were at the table, too. The brother was singing along and talking about the Stones a little, and everyone was having fun. MIL got all indignant and said, "What did this song just say? I don't think I like the idea of someone sending dead flowers to my wedding."

I am sorry, but anybody who has to have Dead Flowers explained to them is just an idiot. Also, the song would not be a classic if it were about the polite gesture of sending an appropriate (but not too over-the-top) bouquet during a time of celebration. This woman is so obsessed with form and obligation that she cannot see past the "dead flowers" motif to the immortal symbolism of lost love. I was disgusted and I may not be able to get over this one. I can't trust anyone who doesn't get Dead Flowers, just like I can't trust anyone who doesn't like goat cheese.

Wedding Menu: The wedding was a gorgeous affair at the Henry Clay: cream and peach roses with white French hydrangeas everywhere, a 20-piece Motown band, and a homosexual wedding planner named Arnie who did an unforgettable dance routine to It's Raining Men that I sincerely wish all of y'all could have witnessed.

Anywho, y'all can guess what's on the dinner menu at this sort of wedding: an old-fashioned filet, probably in a gorgeous sauce, with some potatoes and a little steamed asparagus. Naturally there was a vegetarian option on the response card. Mr. Twinkle even asked before we sent in the card if the meal would be up to the family standards of kosher cleanliness, and we were told to get the steak.

Well, last night my sleuthing father-in-law heard a rumor about a cream sauce on the steak and caused a minor uproar, resulting in the catering staff fixing not one, not two, but eight different meals that lived up to his kosher specifications. Now, he and his sister are both diabetic and have to eat, so I can maybe, maybe see the two of them asking for a small modification to the menu. (Although I would still argue that he should have sent in a vegetarian card beforehand to avoid this). But as for the rest of us, it is our own d*mn problem if we can't eat the meal and it should be up to us to deal with it my eating what we want and leaving what we don't want, and stopping at White Castle on the way home if we're left hungry.

It turned out that the cream sauce rumor was pure myth. At the end of the day, after all that drama, the only difference was that we got a plain baked potato instead of the delicious-looking herbed mashed potatoes that everyone else got (and half of the guest list was Jewish). I am still bitter, and Mr. Twinkle and even MIL were appalled at the social gaffe. Only my perfect sister-in-law defends his behavior, which just makes me want to vomit. I mean I just think that is the very height of bad manners as a guest, and why does he think he has to negotiate what's on the plates of eight of his closest family members? It should be our choice if we want to eat or not eat some d*mn mashed potatoes. Mr. Twinkle and I agreed last night: demanding that the hosts accommodate your strict religious dietary rules at the eleventh hour is just the epitome of shtetl.