With a perspective informed by almost three decades of connubial bliss, I’m well aware that married people tend to grow alike over the years; what I didn’t realize until last night is that couples who are merely betrothed may also develop similar proclivities.
Case in point: the usually mild-mannered bride-to-be channeling her inner fiancé with a somewhat impatient driver who took umbrage to all those bikes in the way out of downtown. While it was calmly shouted through the driver’s side window that the piece of road in question was actually a “Bus Only,” lane, tempers flared and an impromptu teaching moment ensued complete with empty threats and handclaps for effect. Had the groom himself been there to bear witness, I’m quite sure a tear or two of pride would have glistened in his loving eyes.
Now, while that metaphorical storm blew over without incident, the same can’t be said for the literal squall that rose up soon after. One expects a summer downpour to be brief, but surprise! Every time you thought it was ending, another wave of water arrived.
We did learn, however, that a trellis is not a shelter, although it does sort of feel drier when there’s wood overhead. Also: a sidewalk qualifies as higher ground when a parking lot is flooded, but once your socks are soaked, you may as well ride through the river anyway.
The evening’s returning Nurse of Honor opted for the firepit he’d never seen rather than the covered park shelter but given the fire-making skills of resident hardcore boy scouts, it all worked out fine: eventually, the flames were hot enough to evaporate the deluge if you stood close and the nearby foliage dense enough to intercept most of the downpour; the challenge was choosing between the two.
“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain,” sang Seventies folk-rocker and sometimes-crazy person, James Taylor; same as last night’s ride, the wet and the hot wedded and becoming as one.
Case in point: the usually mild-mannered bride-to-be channeling her inner fiancé with a somewhat impatient driver who took umbrage to all those bikes in the way out of downtown. While it was calmly shouted through the driver’s side window that the piece of road in question was actually a “Bus Only,” lane, tempers flared and an impromptu teaching moment ensued complete with empty threats and handclaps for effect. Had the groom himself been there to bear witness, I’m quite sure a tear or two of pride would have glistened in his loving eyes.
Now, while that metaphorical storm blew over without incident, the same can’t be said for the literal squall that rose up soon after. One expects a summer downpour to be brief, but surprise! Every time you thought it was ending, another wave of water arrived.
We did learn, however, that a trellis is not a shelter, although it does sort of feel drier when there’s wood overhead. Also: a sidewalk qualifies as higher ground when a parking lot is flooded, but once your socks are soaked, you may as well ride through the river anyway.
The evening’s returning Nurse of Honor opted for the firepit he’d never seen rather than the covered park shelter but given the fire-making skills of resident hardcore boy scouts, it all worked out fine: eventually, the flames were hot enough to evaporate the deluge if you stood close and the nearby foliage dense enough to intercept most of the downpour; the challenge was choosing between the two.
“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain,” sang Seventies folk-rocker and sometimes-crazy person, James Taylor; same as last night’s ride, the wet and the hot wedded and becoming as one.
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