When I was a kid in the Dark Ages, we wrote letters instead of texts. My first pen pal was my cousin in Florida. She was a decade older than me, but she was kind enough to write back and not point out all my spelling mistakes. In third grade, I was a flower girl at her wedding. It was the first time I ever met her.
I wanted my son to have a closer relationship with his cousins—even though we were an entire continent away from them. Whenever my siblings gathered for weddings, holidays, or birthdays, we flew across the country to join them.
So this is my 100th blog post! Imagine confetti everywhere!
I’m shocked. I mean, not shocked I’ve written approximately 400 pages. All y’all know by now that I’m a loquacious monster with polysyllabic tentacles. Standard blog posts are apparently a page or less. Mine are more like 4. But that’s fine. I take pride in the fact that my blog is for people with above average powers of concentration (or possibly extra-long train commutes). Continue reading The Daughter-in-Law Tea Ceremony (#100)
Bet your friends would like this (unless they're racists):
Do you remember all the lovely food at your wedding? The cuisine that you carefully selected in advance? The hors d’oeuvres of bacon-wrapped scallops, chicken satay, or asparagus goat cheese brioche? Can you recall the taste of the prime rib, or the mushroom ravioli?
In Ang Lee’s The Wedding Banquet, the Chinese bride and groom collapse in their hotel room after an exhausting wedding. There’s a knock on the door. The bride goes to answer it. The groom tries to stop her. Too late! All the young wedding guests pour into the hotel room, carting tables, chairs, booze, and supplies for potentially humiliating sexual games. They set up shop and party. Questionable, regrettable activities ensue.
It was the evening before my wedding. My Chinese-American fiancé and I had made the mistake of having an open bar at our rehearsal dinner. Despite Andy’s best efforts, most of our wedding party got trashed. The worst offenders were our brothers. My Big Brother, former Naval Officer, had conned my twenty-one-year-old Baby Brother into attempting to match his alcohol consumption. And while Andy’s little brother Denny had thankfully been cut off early by the bartender, he’d still downed too many shots.