June is the month most often chosen for a wedding. But too often it rains and you see the bride (just outside the door) wringing out the long wet train on her wedding dress on her way into the church.
The groom is looking at his watch and wondering if the bride has decided she really prefers that wealthy Brazilian guy that has been hanging around in the shadows hoping she will see the error of her ways and, on second thought, wants him instead.
He shrugs, thinking cheerfully that more than half the world’s population is made up of women and some of them are prettier and better cooks than Mabel, so “relax man!”
The church organ strikes the first thunderous notes of the wedding march and he realizes it is too late to make his escape and wishes he had accepted that strong drink offered to him by his best man as they stood waiting and waiting. He wonders if she is having second thoughts as well, but he brushes that idea aside, certain she already knows she is getting a prize in marrying him. He has a job and a car (it’s not new, but it still goes … most of the time). When her salary is added to his, he’ll be able to buy a new car and yesterday he had seen a silver Mercedes that really caught his eye.
Thinking about that, he smiled and the people craning their necks to watch him decided it was going to be a happy union after all.
Recently, my eldest daughter, Barbara, took me with her to where she shops for the food bank on Pender Island. The big store is not my cup of tea, but is always interesting and there are always hordes of people filling their huge carts with what looks like several month’s groceries.
I usually sit down in the area where they serve food and on that day I lucked out. Because it was so busy, two separate men asked if they might share my table, and of course, I hastened to agree!
Barbara was amused to hear us in animated conversation when she returned. I had thoroughly enjoyed sharing some time with (not one, but two) handsome men! Suddenly, the big store seemed a much nicer, friendlier place to shop!
I know I’m old, but I’m not quite dead yet!
Helen Lang has been the Peninsula News Review’s garden columnist for more than 30 years.