Y'all, I went to a hick wedding this weekend. Well... it was, more precisely, a wedding/pig roast. That's how it was referred to all weekend. "A wedding slash pig roast."
The invitation said dress was, "Country Casual." Not knowing what that meant, exactly, I went for a sundress with sandals. The Funasaurus' sister, D, went for the same thing. We were the most dressed up people there, by the end of the night. And that includes the bridal party.
I kid you not.
At first, I was shocked by the vast quantity of jeans, and khaki pants, and clogs that showed up, among the guests. But right after the ceremony ended, the father of the bride shed his suit, and re-appeared in jeans and a flannel shirt. Yee-haw!
I thought I had seen everything... right up until the bridesmaids and THE BRIDE disappeared. The bride had worn a gorgeous wedding dress for the ceremony, that made her look itty-bitty and tan. I think most brides strive for that look. However, as we trudged across the lawn (paying special mind to the "Caution, ditch on property!" sign[!]) for appetizers on the neighbor's lawn, the bride and her bridesmaids went inside the house.
For pictures, I thought.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
They all reappeared in jeans. Including the bride.
Now, I try not to judge. Your wedding day is YOUR day, and you can do whatever you want, including making Prince's When Doves Cry your wedding march, if you love the song, serving Hamburger Helper, if you love how it tastes, and wearing jeans, if you love how they feel.
What I DON'T understand, is why you would spend obscene amounts of money on a gorgeous wedding dress, which hopefully you will never have reason to wear again in your life, only to wear it for all of about 45 minutes before you exchange it for cropped jeans.
To each his own.
Apparently, we somehow missed the jeans memo, because several of the guests disappeared, shortly thereafter, to trade in their already-not-very-fancy attire for jeans and sweaters.
(It was NOT on the invitation. Believe you me, I CHECKED that shit when I got home.)
So we sat their shivering, (it was cold!) in our cute little sundresses, feeling very stand-y-out-y in heeled shoes, all evening.
The cake, however, was one of the best wedding cakes I have ever tasted.
And the bride and groom seemed genuinely happy, so that is what really counts.
But I will never wear heels to their home, again.
And D and I did have a great time plotting, snickering wickedly because we had drunken probably more than our fair share of cheap, sweet champagne (blegh!, but I do not look the Alcohol Gift Horse in the face for too long, nay, [neigh! bwa-hah] we drank that stuff happily) having decided that D's wedding (groom still TBD) will be black tie formal. Because she likes getting fancy. And that is her prerogative.
And also because there exists a slightly sadist desire to make 'em all wear something other than jeans for a whole night.
We just need to be sure to get the name of her baker, before sending the Tux-Only invites.
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I go to a benefit every year that's "Cowboy Chic"... but that really means "Black tie, but instead of a bowtie, you can wear a bolo tie. And women? As long as your skirt cost more than $500, you can get in. But it should be studded. Or leather. Or somehow... cowboy. But the chic is more importatnt. If all fails, throw a cowboy hat on top of a formal dress."
But... wow. I was in my wedding dress for about 10 hours, and it wasn't long enough. I'd war that gorgeous thing every day if they let me.
And ps? The word verification? Is Giggo. Which makes me think Giggalo, which makes me laugh.
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