Tuesday, August 26
This is What Happens When I'm Among My Own Kind
Seminarian: You'd have to have the readings for All Souls, since they're not optional. (with relish) I recommend black vestments.
Me: (makes more-or-less approving, if slightly dumbfounded, noises)
Engaged Girl: Awesome! I've already got black bridesmaid dresses.
Seminarian: And the Dies Irae.
Engaged Girl: I could so go for the Dies Irae at my wedding! And black candles.
Me: No, unbleached wax, of course!
Engaged Girl: Of course.
Seminarian: And if it was Extraordinary Form, we could wheel out the catafaque!
Me: But where would the bride and groom stand?
Seminarian: Oh, there's still room in front of the altar.
The idea is, hypothetically, er, interesting, if perhaps crossing the line into what we might term Dwight Shrute territory.
But, to any frightened females in the audience (all three of you who aren't huddled, terrified, in the bathroom, frantically talking about shoes or eyeshadow, or homeschooling textbooks, or how to gut a deer carcass or something girly like that), let me reassure you I would never schedule my own wedding, if I am so lucky it should occur someday, for November 2nd. For one thing, the catafaque would get in the way of the four prelates in rochets holding up the Sarum-style canopy.*
*Okay, it's negotiable, since the groom never gets much of a say in such things, and the whole idea is hypothetical to begin with, but I can dream, can't I?