British Invasion

This weekend, my husband and I attending the wedding celebration of his sister and her new husband. He is British, but we did not go to London for these festivities. Instead, his relatives and friends came to Northern Georgia for the parties. After all the regular jokes about driving on the wrong side of the road, we settled in for a very fun set of days. I've almost stopped saying things like "lovely" and "dreadful," but I am still looking for a reason to use my new phrase, "khak my pants."

We went to five parties in four days, and apparently there were two others we weren't even invited to attend. It's a good thing, too, since I don't think I could have gone to one more party without exploding. I love my sister-in-law, and I really like this guy she married, but is it really necessary to jump up and down constantly for the whole weekend? Thankfully, my mother-in-law didn't spontaneously combust, though that was a distinct possibility.

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One of my responsibilities at this wedding was to play the video toast that her other brother put together since he was unable to attend. This involved a projector, speakers, a mixer, and a laptop. With all the equipment I rented, I could have bought him a plane ticket, myself. The brother-in-law, with his theatrics, put together an animated film wherein Great Britain invaded Georgia for the booming poultry market. Negotiations between the bride and groom representing their respective countries (?) were tense:
  Bride: "I'm right!"
  Groom: "Oh dear."
  Et cetera ...

During the playing of this toast, I realized that I was the most likely person to be attacked by the bride in question, and I was only four feet away from her. Thankfully, she was able to laugh at herself (or she'd had too much wine by that point to be aware of what was going on), and I have survived to blog another day.

Regardless, all is right in the world again. Most of those UK-ers have returned home, or at least gone to places like New York and Vail where people expect to see foreigners. The sleepy little towns in northern Georgia have been allowed to return to their regular, non-constant-partying selves. And I go back to work tomorrow, trying to earn a living in the field I know best.

Love is beautiful, no?