story on why to feed BM's
nvermindIt was the week that Richard Nixon resigned and I was the MOH at my cousin's wedding. If I had known then what I know now, I would have happily traded places with Nixon. The weather was oppressively hot. The ceremony was set for 5 p.m., but as instructed, I was at the bride's house at 1p.m., dressed and ready for church. Surely, thought I, they want to feed me and give me something to drink--I had not eaten since breakfast. WRONG. Instead, they tortured me with a baby's breath bouquet jammed into my head like a crown of thorns which gave me a headache. There was no food or drink anywhere in sight. I walked down the aisle, with that stupid bridesmaid grin pasted on my face, hungry, thirsty and distracted by the headache, and had to stand in the hot, still air of the church. Just as they were exchanging the 'I do's', I passed out cold. The father of the groom (my uncle) rushed over and caught me just before I hit the floor. The whole congregation was distracted while my uncle dragged me to a pew and pushed my head down, to get the blood back into my brain. None of the guests heard anything said by the bride or groom. Everyone was too busy staring at me, as I humiliated myself.
