Going To The Chapel

My old friend from university, Sara, is getting married in New York next month, and I couldn't be happier for her. I asked Jack to escort me but he refused, which is just as well, since last time he accepted and then stood me up.

She's not, in point of fact, going to the chapel, but rather to a beautiful hotel on Long Island. I told Sara, "I don't care if I have to show up alone, dance alone, sleep alone, and sit in a corner by myself all night, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Though I haven't met the husband-to-be Sara assures me I will love him. "He's a huge Monty Python fan," she says, by way of making her point, keenly aware of the roads that lead to my heart. Last summer, when I took my first PhD course, "Ways of Knowing," and learned who Immanuel Kant, Heidegger, David Hume, and Wittgenstein, really were, I couldn't stop giggling.

I sure hope she's right about me loving him. Over the years I've met some of Sara's men, and they stirred many emotions in me, yet love was never one of them.

There was Errol, who I met in New York not long after Sara first moved there. He drove a Saab convertible, wore a diamond pinky ring, and reminded me of Snidely Whiplash. He was getting divorced, Sara told me. He was getting divorced... he was getting divorced... he was getting divorced. Finally, he got divorced. And then he married someone else.

There was Adam, the man for whom Sara spent two years living in Los Angeles, because he'd moved there after they had been dating for five years. The only problem was, she hadn't mentioned to him that she was planning to follow him. She managed to have her company transfer her to the west coast — it wasn't difficult; Sara works in the entertainment industry and at that time was an agent for one of the biggest talent firms in the country — then called him, casually, to say she was in town and would he like to go out for dinner. Before he could return her call, two weeks later, she was at the gym when her personal trainer, who was also his personal trainer, asked Sara whether she had heard that Adam was engaged.

All Sara's ever wanted is to marry a nice, Jewish, doctor. I don't think that's too much to ask for. But she's not had much luck that way, and it's about time she found one to be happy with. I hope with all my heart that Stephen King is the right man for her.

Oh, did I mention that that's his name?

I'll report on The Groom and, of course, The Dress, after the event. For now, I can report on The Shower, from which I've just come; The Maid of Honour; and The Ring.

Six of us took Sara to brunch today at the King Eddie. It was very grown up. Everything seemed to come with goat cheese, even the biscuits. Damned good coffee. We gave Sara her gift, a gift from all of us which Francine and I had done the shopping for yesterday. It was a long silk nightgown, in the most gorgeous pale gold colour, with delicate criss-crossed spaghetti straps and not one speck of lace on it anywhere. It cost more than my car.

I was terribly worried that Sara wouldn't like it. She can be rather... particular. Or that it wouldn't fit. It is, after all, lingerie. But she insisted that she loved it, and I don't think she's that good a liar. I was thrilled that she really liked it. See, I rather pride myself on being a good present-giver. I would have hated for this one to have missed the target.

At brunch I met Sara's Maid of Honour, her even-older-friend-than-me friend from high school. I felt like something of an alien, surrounded by JAPs whose recurring topic of conversation was their relative levels of JAPdom. That's their term, by the way, not mine.

The winner of the JAP-off, as declared by me, at any rate, was the Maid. Do you remember Janice, Chandler's ex-girlfriend, on Friends? I wasn't quick-thinking enough to make up a lie about moving to Yemen, so instead I found myself agreeing to be Janice's roommate at the hotel in March.

Ah, yes, The Ring.

I've always been of the opinion, though rarely expressed, that diamonds are, well, common. Every married and engaged woman has one, and I've never much cared to have something that everyone else has. I would prefer a ruby, or a sapphire. They have colour, and character, and look stunning accented with diamonds.
Not that any man's ever offered me one of any of the above, mind.

After seeing Sara's ring, however, I'm starting to feel a stir of affection for her friend Tiffany.

* * *
Next, Postmodern Sass begins the story of Jack and Diane. If you like, Gentle Reader, you may skip ahead to this story and find out what Sass bought her friend Sara for a wedding gift.