It wouldn’t be summer if ya weren’t bein’ dragged off to weddings all the time. Somebody’s cousin’s neighbour’s daughter is gettin’ married ever other weekend and before ya know it, the wife’ll have ya climbin’ in the shower and wearin’ clothes too fancy to even change a tire in.
Of course, the trick about goin’ to a wedding is not actually goin’ to the wedding part. If ya can make it to just the reception, it’s a sure bet ya can squeeze a few drink tickets off the bride’s father and prolly score yourself a buffet plate before it’s all over. If ya can get out of the church part but still be on the hook for the supper and reception, that’s not so bad either, because at least you’re gettin’ a hot turkey out of it.
There was one about a month ago – some woman Minnie and Joan know from Joan’s women’s group, it was her daughter that was gettin’ married – and somehow I got roped into goin’ to the whole damn thing. The church, the supper and the reception – a day full of flowers and frilly nonsense and everything else. I went back to the buffet three or four times and filled myself full of potato salad, about 30 little rolls of salami, and enough wedding cake to choke an elephant. I passed out in a food coma somewhere around the chicken dance.
Anyways, I figure that’s a whole Saturday I’ll never get back, so I figured I’d do my best to avoid all the bad stuff about weddings and stick to just the good stuff – in other words, just food and booze.
So when Minnie came at me with another wedding to go to last weekend, I was ready for her. About an hour before we were supposed to be at the church, I went out to the baby barn and came in with the tool box and went to work on fixin’ the window fan in the kitchen without Minnie even askin’ me.
She was after me for three or four days to take it apart and tighten the blades or whatever had to be done to keep the damn thing from rattlin’ all the time. Of course, when it came time to go to the church, I made sure I had the fan in about thirty pieces on the kitchen table.
Minnie was yellin’ at me to get in the shower, but I said I had no idea it’d take so long to fix the fan, and I couldn’t very well leave all the parts all over the table, could I?
You go ahead to the church part without me, I said. I’ll getchyer fan all fixed and I’ll be all ready to go to the supper with ya.
She cursed me up and down, but she was out the door and off she went.
I was right proud of myself, I tell ya. I figured I’d whip the fan back together, maybe catch half the ballgame on TV before Minnie even got back.
Now, let me tell yis, it was hot that day. I mean, like, arse-stuck-to-the-kitchen-chair hot. Like sweat through your clothes hot. Like, why the hell did I take the fan out of the window and put it in a million pieces hot.
It took me half an hour of gruntin’ and sweatin’ and cursin’, and I ended up with three leftover screws and had to use about a foot of duct tape, but I got the damn fan put back together. The good news is, it wasn’t rattlin’ anymore. The bad news is, it was knockin’ like crazy. Every time the blade went around, the damn thing pretty much jumped a foot off the window sill.
I figured to hell with it. Even with the fan knockin’ around in the window, it was still too hot to move. And I never shaved in about four days, so my face was all itchy and scratchy, and in the summer that just makes the heat even worse.
So since I figured Minnie’d be back any time and I got out of goin’ to the church only to stay home and break her fan even more, I figured I’d go get a shower and shave and get ready for the supper.
Now I don’t know if you’re the same way, but if I shave with a regular razor in the summer, it rips my face apart somethin’ awful. I guess it’s the ten blades each takin’ off a layer of skin on them fancy new razors, but it’s no good. So in the summer I usually shave with the little electric razor Minnie got me for Christmas a few years ago. Ya don’t get the closest shave, but it does the job without takin’ yer face off.
Anyways, I’m up in the bathroom, and I get all the right side of my face shaved when the razor dies. I’m tellin’ ya, ya coulda drew a line right down the middle of my face – one side was shaved clean, and the other side had four days’ growth on it. The damn razor was buzzin’ right along and just kaput, conked right out.
Now, the only thing more irritatin’ on a hot day than havin’ a face full of hair is havin’ half a face full of hair. And of course, I couldn’t find a single disposable razor anywhere to finish the job.
Minnie came back home took a look at me and said – ya look like you’re half werewolf for godsakes. Then she noticed the fan tryin’ to jump out of its skin in the window.
I carved up myself up pretty good with one of her rusty pink lady Bics, and everybody at the reception was lookin’ at the bits of bloody toilet paper stuck to my face and sayin – What the hell happened to you?
Pass me the salami, I said.