Little Doors
“I had never attended a gloomier celebration. The courtroom proceedings for my own divorce—as rabid and rancid a ruckus as any since the days of Henry VIII—would have passed as a Saturday night during the pinnacle of Studio 54, when juxtaposed with this dreary affair.
At my table, reserved for unmated oddball friends of the bride and groom, a middle-aged woman on my left was endlessly stubbing out the same dead cigarette in the remains of her potatoes au gratin. The trim elderly gent to my right had taken to polishing his eyeglasses to invisibility with a corner of his napkin. And across the littered expanse of tablecloth a twenty-something gal—hair gelled sharp and colored like a tetra’s scales—chewed her drearily painted fingernails like a cougar gnawing its own trap-bound leg. And as for myself, I wallowed in an orgy of long, deep sighs, foot-tapping and wedgie-level squirming.
And the biggest scandal of the whole day was that there was absolutely no reason for this pall.
Stan and A...ndrea were a wonderful couple: witty, young, energetic and generous.MoreLess
At my table, reserved for unmated oddball friends of the bride and groom, a middle-aged woman on my left was endlessly stubbing out the same dead cigarette in the remains of her potatoes au gratin. The trim elderly gent to my right had taken to polishing his eyeglasses to invisibility with a corner of his napkin. And across the littered expanse of tablecloth a twenty-something gal—hair gelled sharp and colored like a tetra’s scales—chewed her drearily painted fingernails like a cougar gnawing its own trap-bound leg. And as for myself, I wallowed in an orgy of long, deep sighs, foot-tapping and wedgie-level squirming.
And the biggest scandal of the whole day was that there was absolutely no reason for this pall.
Stan and A...ndrea were a wonderful couple: witty, young, energetic and generous.MoreLess
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