The last evening of final exams, I went out to celebrate with friends. Sounds normal? Good. Well, it wasn't. These friends, aunts, uncles, cousins; most of them don't even share a language with me. The women wear stiletto heels and have dark hair, olive skinned almond eyes laughing at you all the time. The men, resigned to their tables at the restaurant; all of them wear shoes that are always very worn. How do men wear out shoes like that? I don't understand. Anyway. I was wearing neither heels or house-shoes, but my favorite boots with orange laces. Huh. That whole paragraph was about shoes. I don't usually notice people's shoes, so it was odd, ok?:)

It was a wedding party. I missed the wedding itself because I was giving a speech on "the immortality of the soul", at the time, but nobody seemed to mind very much when a few of us dropped in late. The room was dark and vibrant--the colors of the faded posters on the walls and the faces of the people were the same, but you could see how different were the festive clothes, the tablecloths, and the flowers.

Flowers! there were so many of them, on every table. How tantalising it was to have them in the middle of the table. Not even at a place where one might inadvertently breathe a little deeper to catch a little bit of their frangrance! No! In the center of the table, with stems short enough that all you could politely do was to sit and admire them from afar. Infuriating.

We had to worm our way through the crowd to our friends at the other side of the room--past the karaoke and the man playing the keyboard, through a group of people dancing to the music. They weren't couples, for the most part, but people who were keeping themselves out of mischief by playing with the small children, twirling and stepping on toes and looking up and down and holding hands. Little girls in plaid dresses, shy little ones, were looking up bashfully at our faces as we passed by.

The food was Yummy. There was a cold buffet of unfamiliar and delicious foods that I attempted to sample but only got a mouthful of about half of what was left--even after being hours late. Sitting down, I was bombarded by napkins, plastic forks, and two or three different people pouring me water and wine or yelling at others to do so. I sneaked a little of the bottled coke (which two glasses were mine?) as well--did you ever notice how much better coca cola is from bottles than from cans? Incomparable. But anyway--the wine was good even though I'm not overenthusiastic about the red stuff, the food was all home made and all exquisitely tasty. If people would only stop trying to kiss me hello then it would have been easier but ah, well.

As a seat on the other side of the table emptied (yes! one nearer the wall!), I merfed it and was able to see what had been behind me--the adults were beginning to dance. The styles of the dances changed sporadically from pseudo-Russian to Italian to a free-for-all sort of whatever-you-call-it that always confuses me. But they seemed to be having a great time all the same.

Suddenly the music went up about fifty decibels and hit a crescendo to a loud beating of techno-whoosa-whatsits that sounded like drums . . . I haven't a clue how to say it, obviously, but several people cringed visibly and gave dirty looks to the DJ. Granted, it wasn't really all that appropriate for the event, but so long as you surrender to it and don't try to calm your mind or make eye contact it feels so strange: freeing and exhausting. *I* liked it. Why did I add that to my description? I don't know. But I don't turn my music up that loud or listen to that kind of stuff very often so it was something strange for me to think about. Back to the party.

A photographer in a boxy brown jacket was dodging like a dragonfly through the crowd of people, stopping to hover in the air for a moment and snap a picture and then moving on. So many people smiling! It must have been easy to look for a picture of someone beautiful. But I haven't any earthly idea how he worked it out because the room was so dark and the shadows so pronounced . . . Well, we shall see. Doubtless we will see pictures soon.

The bride, eight months pregnant and looking quite exhausted, sat behind a table at the far end of the room, watching people dance. I watched her for a moment--she looked a little distracted now, and turned her head. No longer looking at the dancing, she sighed and seemed to be remembering something else, missing some piece of the puzzle. Someone else noticed me noticing her . . . "Her parents couldn't get a visa to come. She has no family here." She was all alone! Well, I can't say that her husband wasn't any comfort for her, but to have a piece of your history witness a glimpse of your future is a gift and a reassurance that I wish she might have had. She looked less wistful and more sorrowful.

Her husband's brother was also married; both women were pregnant at the same time, though at vastly different stages of the process. But how odd it must be! To live in that kind of house. I wonder what they saw when they looked at the small children who were dancing. They are such very different women, too; their superstitions are also vastly different. I hope it works out alright:) I am inclined to laugh and shake my head at the whole thing.

Suddenly my friend and I were assualted by people plucking at our elbows to stand up and wait for the bride to throw the bouquet. We both locked our feet under our chairs and braced ourselves with demure "NO, THANK-YOU!"s. Luckily, they gave up on us. A beautiful fourteen-year-old girl caught the bouquet and smiled a perfect smile for the bride, who was delighted. I hate those silly superstitious bits of weddings. Note to self: do not do this at my own wedding.

I was feeling warm from the wine, and comfortably full of food, and beginning to relax. My body was warm but my mind was reeling in exams and things--I was beginning to be sleepy. But it was almost over--the wedding cake! The wedding cake was something I was curious about. People always have odd wedding cakes. (If it is "always" can it be "always odd" or is that an oxymoron?) Anyway, it was good but soaked in liquer. Couldn't finish my third bite of it.

Then right afterwards there was sherry. Home made sherry is YUMMY!! I'm quite sold on it. It tasted like cherry syrup and wine and something so sweet and hot that it made you want to remember cold nights. I remember my throat felt like it exploded, I was so warm. Feels funny right now because my fingertips and my nose are cold again. *sigh* I don't suppose they'd allow me to bring sherry into the library.

And then people began to leave. More kissing. A few of the women gravitated towards the kitchen. I followed them, knowing that the inevitable was soon to transpire. The dishes. They weren't so bad, but there were four or five of us doing them until midnight, plus a multitude of men trying to help clean up and mussing things around. Plastic forks, paper plates, and breaking glasses . . . I was told that the preparation was much worse than the cleaning up. I tip my hats to those who prepared it all.

And now! Time to end the monster post. Not sure how to finish it now . . . but anyway, that was what I did on the final night of exams:)