peevish mama

My little brother, Golden, is getting married in a couple weeks and I simply cannot wait. Golden’s girl, Delicious Apple, is a sweetheart and has felt like part of our family for years and years. The two of them are always laughing, which we old hands know to be the key to a successful marriage. (My secret mission is to lure the newly wed Golden Delicious Apples to Minneapolis to live. I know they’d love it here. And I know I’d love them being here).

To say that I adore weddings couldn’t be more of an understatement and I’m practically jumping out of my skin at the prospect of watching my baby brother take the plunge. I was twelve when he was born and from the moment I set eyes on him, all my affections for our Golden Retriever, Ginger, were transfered ten times over to the little boy with raven black hair and big brown eyes. He was my baby too! All his life he has been a funny, rule-breaking little imp who could charm the tail off a fox and now he’s all grown up, almost done with med school, responsible (yet ever the bonvivant) and getting married! Joy! Joy! Freaking joy!!!!!

I plan to look muy sexy Italian widow in my black Dolce and Gabbana corset dress. I am oldish. I have earned the right to work it, and work it I will. Unapologetically. (Although I’m sure my mother will make me cover my shoulders in church).

I also plan to drink many gin and tonics and dance up a storm with Doctor Dash and my little peeps. Golden turned over every burnt out brick and stone in the Detroit metro area to find the most insane funk/soul band and I trust he succeeded based on his gleeful comment that the keyboardist has no legs, surely the bi-product of some good hard livin’ and a touch of diabetes. Take that, Pine Lake Country Club! The Peevish Mama clan, from littlest to biggest, is ready to bust out in a web of loosely choreographed dancing genius, honed through many a winter dance party in our empty living room. We’ll be like the VonTraps, only super FLY.

I have a sitter on-call to come and get Devil Baby, but if everyone is happy and workin’ it, we plan to roll like the Argentines we are and let the kids enjoy the fun until the very last reveler has shimmied off the liquor-slick dance floor (that’ll probably be me). I would like nothing more than for Dash and I to woozily shepherd our sleepy brood into the back of my parents’ waiting car at the end of the night, ears ringing, feet throbbing, voices hoarse from laughing and talking, filled to the tippy tip top with Golden Delicious love.