I have not written about the wedding yet. I’ve been too absorbed in my evening eyeball acrobatics. But I’m committed to not writing about my GERD, my eyes or my ears.
That’s it for today….
The kind where you hold hands with little old ladies and second cousins you don’t know and dance around in a big circle. Not only are you whipping around but there are complex steps to remember. I don’t know these steps. None.
A lot of parents sent their kids (and teens) to Macedonian dancing lessons — fun evenings in a church basement where one is forced to learn the complex steps in question.My parents didn’t make us go to these lessons. Well, I actually think we refused to go but the result is the same — I don’t know any of these dances. Now, this doesn’t bother me but it sure bothers all my relatives. Perhaps bother is too strong a word— it concerns them. Worries them. Makes them unhappy that I can’t enjoy myself properly. (My gin and tonic was most enjoyable.)
They coerced me into dancing (it was the gin and tonics). Begging and pleading will do it. I tried my best and danced (ha!) about four dances. I hated it but it seemed to make them happy. I actually enjoy the music a lot though. Macedonian music is very peppy.
And I can’t sign off before I mention the husband hunting…
Unknown Female Relative (60 ish):
“Christine … (they know who I am even if I don’t know them) … look over there at table 17 — he’s divorced. Very nice man. Come, I will introduce you.”
Yes this happens often but I know I’m getting old now. This is the first time they’ve tried to set me up with a divorced guy.