There was a wedding this weekend. I attended. And wrangled children. And got into skirmishes. And spent too much money trying to make my hair look like normal people’s hair. And had lip gloss smeared in my hair. It was an event. I’m sitting here looking at my suitcase trying to get up the energy to deal with it. I have to go out of town again this week for work so in all reality it will likely just sit there until I need to do something with it in the morning.
The reality of it is the wedding adventures started out more in line with a disaster. Mancandy and eldest of the Minicandies were in a big spat on the road which caused all candies to turn into vengeful, irritable, unpleasant riding companions. None of us were terribly fond of each other by the time we arrived at 1:30am. The next morning the family O’Candy was one giant mass of pissed-the-hell-off. I, unsurprisingly, found this not at all fun and became even more pissed-the-hell-off. I was my usual mature self and stayed quiet but kept score every time a snarky comment was made, a snappy tone was used, or a broody silence hung in the room. I am pretty sure the O’Candy’s are used to being the angry, vengeful ones. I tried to be polite and hold in my wrath.
Without turning this into a giant post (you’re welcome) suffice to say, I got fed up with snappy, nasty attitudes quickly and ended up so having the first panic attack I’ve had since my father died about 8 years ago. It was not a fun adventure. I need time by myself to recharge and settle, having no time to do any of that combined with tons of negative emotions being blasted at me with no ability to influence the situation just did not sit well with me. So multiple O’Candy’s felt my wrath.
I have no regrets. My sister calls that stage banshee mode. She ascertains I’ve hit baby banshee phase and will enter the teenage banshee phase soon. I am not excited about it, but it is what it is. I’d had enough.
All that to say, the day of the wedding came and I was not in the best mood. I actually wanted to set everything on fire and dance in the flames. Instead, I dressed up, put on my girl face, tried to create girl hair, and went to the church. I wasn’t sure where to sit, I’m not family but I’m not really a friend so I wasn’t entirely certain where to plop. I ended up sitting at the end of a pew with extended family. A man with three children around him was the closest person to me. The smallest of his children crawled over him to crawl right up to me on the pew. She got an inch from my face with a big grin and a suspiciously greasy lower face area.
“I have lip gloss” was whispered directly into my face from roughly 2 inches away.
“Lip gloss is good stuff” I whispered back.
She grinned and held up her bracelet.
“The lipgloss is in my bracelet.” She explained.
I must have appeared as confused as I actually was. She took the bracelet apart, pulled it into one straight line, and held it out to me.
“Make it into a toy and you can have lip gloss” was whispered into my ear. And I do mean directly into my ear canal.
I explained that I did not know how to make a bracelet into a toy. She was a smidge less thrilled with me. I felt disappointed in myself but was still unsure how to proceed.
Her father was consulted.
He figured out how to make it work.
My new little friend came back to my side, squished up against me, and proudly showed me her bracelet-now-turtle. The turtle shell was opened slowly with gestures reminiscent of Vanna White. Inside the shell was a secret compartment that had the appearance of a mini tub of grease. A tiny little finger swished around in the shell compartment, came up with a glob of grease, and smiled at me while happily smearing grease on her lips and all surrounding areas for good measure. She was a well moisturized little thing, kind of young for skincare but who am I to judge?
I was then treated to a show of her turtles jumping and running skills. When I admired how fast the turtle could “run” across the back of the pew she carefully explained that we were playing pretend, it was not real, but we could keep playing as long as I understood we were just playing.
I solemnly nodded and complimented her turtle for a while more.
Eventually, the wedding started and we had to be quiet.
I felt a little hand on my arm. I was being petted.
She continued to pet me and brush at my hair while smiling happily up into my face. It was disconcerting.
She had very greasy little fingers.
She halfway crawled into my lap. When I moved my arms to accommodate her she slipped back into the pew beside me while explaining she had been about to sit on my lap. I nodded and said she could. She shook her head and explained she had been about to but decided not to and would continue sitting on the pew. I said okay. The purpose of this conversation eluded me, but she calmly explained again that she almost sat on my lap but didn’t. I imagine there was a kid message in that, but I didn’t get it. I still don’t. I put my fingers to my lips and gestured to the wedding, hoping the ceremony would distract her.
“Are they kissing yet?” my new little friend asked with equal parts dread and enthusiasm.
She nodded as if that business was complete and launched into a new effort to pet my sweater and slick back my hair. She began concentrating on the effort to give me a greasy mullet. It was a catholic service so we were up and down frequently. She was a patient little thing, pausing to let me stand up along with the rest of the church and going right back to her mission as soon as I was seated again. She eventually stood up in the pew to reach the top of my head (that was carefully sprayed and fussed with so as not to lay flat) and began petting my hair down and back in a windswept yet chicken grease imbibed style that gave me pause. Unsure how to keep it from becoming a scene, I let her stand in my lap to address the front of my hair, slide around to the other side, and accommodated the slimy little hands grabbing my face to turn it this way and that.
In between asking me if the dreaded/wonderful kissing part of was upon us, she mumbled to herself like any good beautician does when they realize my ineptitude with all things girl. Her little forehead wrinkled up and she muttered to me about my hair. I didn’t understand anything she said but it was the same tone I’ve heard my entire life. I was unsure how to avoid the judgmental beautification treatment of my little tyrant when she had had enough of me.
The wedding was moving toward the end and my little friend thought her siblings might be more fun than my frumpy, newly greased up self. They tried to quietly squabble while their exasperated dad tried to quietly strike the fear of dad’s everywhere into them. The older two would settle, but I had befriended a warrior princess who was not the least bit worried about her dad.
After much swimming and squirming up and down the pew, she wiggled over to me to announce that her family was mean to her. I noticed we were at the part she’d been waiting for and pointed out the groom and bride were kissing. She glanced over, shrugged, made a noise equivalent to “ew” and turned around to tear into her brother about being mean. We were able to escape the pews and the crowd and I hid in the back of the church while everyone filed out.
My new friend was apparently done with me though, she kicked me to the curb as soon as other children were available to play with. She did, however, make a long ceremony much more interesting and humorous (although the priest did his best, and was the most epically awesome priest I’ve ever seen). I’m hoping to find more bracelet/toy/grease-pots so I can send a few for Christmas, I figure at the rate she was going she’ll have run out of grease already.
I’m still unsure about kids, especially greasy ones carrying their own grease pots increase the grease level dips too low, but she completely changed my mood and was obviously her father’s greasy little social companion. We ended up chatting later at the…after wedding party thing who’s name escapes me…reception? He finds socializing a difficult affair (I ended up in the corner with all the older gentlemen and occasionally a younger one cycling through to avoid social obligation) and appreciates the fact his daughter has never met a stranger. It makes it easier for him. I inquired about borrowing her for future awkward engagements. He politely laughed but was obviously distracted. I looked over to catch him staring at my hair.
“Your kid glossed my hair along with the lower half of her face. But it’s okay, you’ve got a smear of gloss along your cheek and into your beard there.”
I believe in equal humiliation.
Thanks, Eva. You were magical. Greasy, but magical.