I’ve been to perhaps half a dozen weddings in my entire life.
I’m not sure if that’s normal. I’d like to think so. But from what I hear, some people I know and their friends attend a great deal of weddings. Maybe it’s just because their social circle is bigger than mine. At any rate, a house-mate of mine got married this past Saturday. He’s off gallivanting with his new bride on a cruise. Personally, I don’t think there could be any worse of a place to have a honeymoon than on a boat.
…don’t rock the boat baby…
So now the house I live in is down to three guys, myself included.
Sunday rolled in with clouds, rain, and then a London fog. I rather like foggy days. Too bad this time around it was dark by the time the fog arrived. I especially like road trips through fog. Don’t ask me why. I can’t exactly explain. But if I could explain, I might say how fog makes the known unknown. With a cloudy haze in the way, familiarity flirts with mystery. It causes me to imagine that my world has shrunk and I am the only one alive. I think that would be the five-year-old in me coming out. I always promised myself as a child that I’d never grow up.
Perhaps having never completely grown up explains why weddings still seem so insufferable.