Eat, EAT

I'm pleased to announce that, in addition to a (hypothetically) clean place to rest their heads, our wedding guests will also now have delicious food to eat.

M., my mother and I met with one caterer on Sunday – having decided to scrap the second one, since they were a)overpriced, b)not our favorite people to deal with and c)decommended by our inn following a bar mitzvah with not enough food and a broken chocolate fountain – and, well, we loved her. And her food. Or at least the description of her food, as we only tasted her cupcakes and one Grilled Chicken, Toasted Almond and Tarragon Salad in Cucumber Cup, but let’s just say it’s the most deliciously described wedding food ever. Every good bride knows when to keep her cards to her chest, so we’ll leave the menu description at that. Now all we need is a photographer. And a DJ. And a florist. And a flautist. And rings. And a cake. Oops, sorry guyz, Bride Moment LOL!!!

The other highlight of the weekend was my mother, who is officially my new hero, the wind beneath my wings, my what-have-you. Seriously, she has become not only a Grade-A Mother of the Bride, but a champion of gay rights and the dissemination of gay-oriented literature as well.

As in, she has a growing library of newspaper clippings and articles pertaining to gays, gay marriage, gay this, gay that. Which she leaves out on the counter for my father to (not) read.

As in, she wrote to the author of one editorial on gay marriage, thanking him for writing such a level-headed and sensitive piece, and he wrote back to her. With advice on how to deal with my father.

As in, she is holding onto a Boston Globe Magazine cover story on gay genetics, just in case one of my siblings needs help explaining Us to the grandkids.

As in, she is now telling everyone about her Gay Engaged Son, and is reaping the rewards by having fifty percent of her friends and in-laws come out of the closet with their own gay children. Come to find out, I now have two gay cousins on my father’s side – the most recently discovered of whom is living in Raleigh, disowned by my Cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs aunt. It won’t be long before my mother is twirling her baton at the front of the Country Club Moms With Gay Sons (CoCluMoWiGS) contingent at the Pride parade.

And she's making menu suggestions, and asking where we'll find a justice of the peace, and figuring out whether my father could drive his boat there and sleep on it as an incentive to attend.

The lowlight is that my father is still remaining silent about the whole thing. Although, my mom told me that when they went to church on Saturday afternoon, she saw a guy who was clearly going to stand up at the end of Mass and talk about his anti-gay marriage petition, and she rolled her eyes and shared this premonition with my dad, who asked (rhetorically) what business it was of this guy’s, and said that maybe he’d stand up and yell back at him. Of course, being good Boston Irish Catholics, they skipped out right after Communion, but still…the idea that my dad was even considering taking a stand for me is comforting and relieving and hope-inducing. Maybe this will be the turning point for him – it’s one thing to criticize or disagree with your own son, but when a stranger starts doing it, watch out for Papa Groomzilla. And no, we did not go fishing. Thank You, Hurricane Ophelia.

Here are some more pictures of Our Inn. Lactose-Intolerant, Poo-Shy or Otherwise Gastrointestinally-Compromised Acquaintances may be dismayed to find themselves staying in The Lodge, which has summer-camp charm aplenty but shared bathrooms afew, but they can rest assured that their equally colonically-challenged Hosts will be feeling their pain…from the safe and secure vantage point of our luxury private apartment on the other side of the hedges.


Cute!


Darling!


Precious!


Sweet!


But if you know me, you're probably not sleeping here!


Or here!


'Cause you're booked at The Lodge!


Obligatory self photo.