The mercury keeps rising, and I will tell you I am not a fan.
As a young child, I, like most kids, couldn’t wait for summer. No school. No homework. Lots of time at the lake, and if we didn’t go to the lake, that was fine since there was a huge pond on the property complete with a diving board. We didn’t mind the red colored water or the red clay that squished up between our toes as we walked the beach. The pond was spring fed, and the water was always cool.
Even as a young adult, the summer heat didn’t seem too awful. But now, pushing the 60 mark, I’m wondering why in the world the hubby and I chose to get married outside in the middle of July. I’m even more puzzled as to why all of our loved ones put on their nice jeans and shirts and sat outside in this horrible heat and watched us say our vows. Then those folks stuck around for a potluck dinner.
I’m surprised none of us ended up with food poisoning or that no one passed out from heat exhaustion. I mean, seriously, now, just to leave the cool breeze of the A/C and added fan (always set on high and pointed directly at me) and walk out the front door is a well-thought-out and planned excursion.
We just celebrated 34 years, and I would definitely do it all over again with one significant change. I would plan this shindig inside a very cool building; I’m talking 65 degrees cool. Or we would be exchanging vows sometime between late October and early March.
Yes, I noticed the temperatures on the day of our wedding.
How could I not?
I got up early that morning, had my hair done and my makeup done, loaded the cake and some food for dinner, and even iced down the champagne for the toast. But then we arrived at the Shawnee Lake pavilion and immediately started sweating.
Yes, I mean sweat, not perspire. That salty liquid was dripping off of me like an annoying broken faucet. I couldn’t just wipe it out of my eyes or pull my hair up off my neck. That would ruin all the work it took to look just perfect for the ceremony.
Eventually, I asked the preacher to hurry and start this thing before my makeup looked like war paint. We said our I Do’s and cut the cake, which for the life of me, I can’t imagine how it hadn’t melted or slid off in every different direction. It was, after all, about three feet high with lots and lots of layers. But it remained in place long enough to complete the obligatory photos.
Then, of course, we made the toast, and each sucked down a glass of very cold, very good champagne.
After everything was over and we had settled into our hotel room, we decided to have another glass of champagne. It ended up being more of a swallow as we both poured the rest of the glass down the sink. For some reason, it did not taste nearly as good when we were cool and comfortable as it did when standing in the hot July sun.
