Friday, November 4, 2016

Another Wedding...Another Road Trip





We took another road trip last week; this time up to Portsmouth, New Hampshire

Attended another New England wedding.

And spent another week recovering from all the revelry.

Yeah...

Revelry and I don’t get along, these days.

Not that I’m over revelious...(don’t try looking that up)...it’s just that revelry tends to cut into my nap time, which we covered in our last episode.

So there’s that.

But as weddings go, this was a good one, and I’m two for two with weddings this year, both of which have been a lot of fun...and, did I mention, on the road.

Which makes dancing a bit dodgy, what with traffic and all.

Get it...on the road...traffic...?

Right.
Anyway, old friend Courtney got herself hitched to new friend Matt, which, to be honest, was something that caught most of us by surprise.

For no other reason than we thought the insurance premiums necessary to cover a lifetime with Courtney would prove to be a deal breaker for any potential nuptial candidate.

But apparently not for Matt, who I believe has an Uncle in the business who ran a favorable risk assessment...but also bet everything on Cleveland to win the series, after they went up 3 games to 1.

Nah...I’m kidding. Courtney’s great...no risk at all...for the most part.

In fact, I’ve known Courtney almost since the day she was born.

I would have known her since the actual day she was born but, shortly afterwards, within the hour, she’d found a hang gliding place and was up up and away.

Then she immediately hopped on a plane to Ireland and started pub hopping in Dublin.

So I had to wait a bit for introductions.

You think I’m exaggerating, right?

Okay, sure...maybe a bit.

Of course a newborn isn’t bolting the hospital within the hour to go hang gliding and globetrotting.  Where would she get the resources?

No, I admit it wasn’t within the hour. She waited until after lunch for her birth certificate to dry, which was necessary in order to get the “newborn” rate on airfare; plus the fake ID’s for drinking took longer than expected.

However, the fact she was born with her mom’s credit card in her hand facilitated things, even though it made for a long night for mom...not to mention a long couple of decades for dad.   

That’s just how this Little Pink Ball of Terror always was and still is.

Never one to sit still for too long, let alone have nothing to say....

She’s always had something to say...still does, and, if for some reason she doesn’t, she’ll just say what she thinks you should say...and for the most part she’d be right.

Which is annoying....

What...too harsh?

Okay, there might have been a few times over the years when she did sit still, and did remain quiet for an hour here or there, but only when I bribed her with a dollar.

A practice that apparently still works.

I call her the Little Pink Ball of Terror because, when she was about 3 years old, her dad would drop by the house to watch football—or something else guys watch on weekend afternoons—and as an added bonus to the case of beer he pulled from the back seat, out would roll this little puffy pink ball.

Now, having spent more than a few afternoon’s with this particular little pink ball, I knew exactly what was in store, so as she skipped up to the door I immediately jumped to my feet and knocked over every glass in the house and any other item that wasn’t screwed to the wall or floor.

It just seemed to save time.

But, in all fairness, it wasn’t because Courtney was or is clumsy. She’s actually proven herself to be quiet an accomplished athlete, with or without the casts.

No, it’s more because she’s so super-active she’s always thinking 3 steps ahead of where she is, or what she’s actually doing; already on to the next great adventure before the current one is over.

So if she’s playing softball and a fly ball is hit in her direction she may end up catching the ball with her eye socket instead of her glove, because she’s probably wondering if her sky diving permit has arrived.

Or if those traffic cams really do show a clear picture of who’s actually driving the car.

And of course she might be wondering if anyone else ever sprained both their ankles during a crew meet...or gave themselves two black and swollen eyes by walking into a pole, while texting at the mall...a week before their wedding.

Hey, it happens...at least it did and apparently still does to this Little Pink Ball of Terror.

So it only seems fitting that a short while back, her then soon to be husband, broke his wrist, playing softball, sliding into second base...feet first.

I guess it’s only natural that the Little Pink Ball of Terror would find herself a Little Blue Ball of Terror to balance things out.

Plus they’re both up to date on their First Aide training, which is a win win.

All in all, I’m happy to report the wedding went off without a hitch or serious injury—of any significance—since we all spilled our champagne during the toast.

The bride and groom spent an idyllic evening gliding gracefully across the dance floor, bringing to mind the elegant stylings of Fred and Ethel...uhm, I mean Fred and Ginger.

A fairytale wedding if ever there was one...I’m sure exactly the way Courtney always dreamed it would be.

And why not?

Courtney has always made her dreams come true...and I don’t think she’s going to stop any time soon.

That’s what Little Pink Balls of Terror do.

Something we can all admire and aspire to.

Which bodes well for Matt.

He’s in for quite the adventure...and as long as he keeps a heathy supply of dollar bills nearby he’ll be fine...for the most part.

On a cliff...really?


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3 comments:

  1. what a beautiful photo on the cliff!!!!
    congrats to the pink and blue balls of terror! much happiness to them. and weren't you a lucky duck to have watched this ball of fire grow up!
    i hope her head healed in time for the gala....
    have fun celebrating again, brian!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Everyone is all healed and doing well...including me. Yes, quite the lucky duck once I stocked up on a few dozen cases of Resolve carpet cleaner!

    ReplyDelete

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