A Perfect Day

"Didn't you hear the minister?" Delta chided me yesterday, "during the ceremony, she confirmed that you're supposed to make me coffee every morning."
I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously.
"Yep," he said, looking into the distance as though searching his own memory for confirmation, "and right after that, you said 'I do' ".
I scowled and pouted and generally made dramatic expressions until Delta realised it would be a far simpler task to just get out of bed and make his own coffee on himself.
"Make me one while you're at it?" I asked, grinning like a cheshire cat.

Welcome to the life of Ficali McDelta (nee McPipe).

The wedding ceremony was the shortest (and by that logic the sweetest) wedding ceremony I've experienced. Not that I've experienced that many, of course. It took all of ten minutes to wait our turn in City Hall. It took three more minutes for the minister to actually marry us.

"You do?" (to Delta)
"I do."
"You do?" (to me)
"I do."
There was a moment of faffing around with the rings.
("Delta, you're putting it on the wrong hand!"
"Crap! Yeah! Give me your other hand!"
Minister pretended not to witness this.)
But then, all of a sudden, there we were, as woman and hubby.

We were just leaving City Hall, when suddenly we were accosted by an entourage from New York Magazine.
"Hey there, can we do a photo op with you? We're doing an article on people who get married at City Hall!"
So of course we did our share to oblige the paparazzi. I mean, even people who choose to get married in City Hall like their fair share of glitz and flashing bulbs, you know. Update on this to follow if, by absolute fluke, we actually do make the it into the magazine.

And then we did what I think every New York couple should consider. We had our wedding as a picnic in Central Park. Green grass, blue skies, balmy air, close friends, it was absolutely perfect. Absolutely perfect.

The Day Before

Tomorrow, Delta and I promise ourselves to each other for ever.

Just like any other day, we'll wake up in the morning and bumble around and scratch our heads over whether to have blueberries on the cereal or not.

And then, we'll head down to City Hall with our erstwhile allies Gus and Doobie, and hold hands before Gawd and Law and Mankind (and minister and Gus and Doobie) and say "I do".

Which means, today is my last day as a single woman. What in the world should I do with my time?! I've already gone for a manicure-pedicure session, kissed Queen Jaffa to the point that she has taken to ignoring me, and eaten my lunch. I've already done my laundry and put anything wrinkled into an ironing pile to be ignored for the rest of the year. Nothing earth-shattering, as you can see. Nothing quite remarkworthy for one's last day as anything.

But ooh, the pressure!

The Queen Jaffa animal confusion

Everyday, I am increasingly enamoured by Queen Jaffa. But perhaps more importantly, between the way she follows us around the apartment and her constant need for attention, I'm still perplexing myself over whether she's a dog or a cat.


She falls more on the feline side of the taxonomy, I suppose, particularly when she feels the undying urge to sharpen her claws on the couch. But then, just when she has me convinced about her general cat-ness, she pulls an odd move like sleeping on her back with all four limbs in the air - which make me wonder if she isn't perhaps human (Delta claims I sleep like that, although I refuse to believe it of course - if you aren't awake to see it, then it isn't true).

Needless to say, whichever animal Queen Jaffa chooses to be on any given day, she certainly has the whole house wrapped around her whim and fancy. At least, I hope it is the whole house. It better not be only me, who falls for the puppy eyes, feline miaow, the cow-like lumbering and the sloth-like perpetual somnia.

With a wedding like this, who needs a honeymoon?

"That wasn't a very positive post," Delta remarked when he read my previous post about our cruise. And I guess he's right. Biased by my absolute abhorrence to the idea of five days of gluttony, I guess my description of the cruise wasn't quite as scintillating as it could have been.

But folks, don't get me wrong! A cruise might not be my cup of tea, but a wedding in Bermuda is a whole different kettle of fish. Not a thing could be faulted. I guess we might have just discovered our new retirement destination (well, until we go to Tuscany next year, anyway).

A five day party

The wedding itself, of course, was beautiful (how could a wedding in Bermuda not be?!), and pictures to follow shortly.

The cruise on the other hand, ahem, left something to be asked for. Did you know that cruises are just an excuse for gluttony? It was the most bizarre thing I'd seen. Everyone seemed to eat five full meals each day, without any seeming desire to exercise whatsoever. It's as though as soon as we got on the cruise, we entered a surreal world where the only activities that existed consisted of eating and sleeping. And eating and sleeping. And eating and sleeping.

And then, a bit of dappling in the casino (with remarkably un-positive results. Needless to say, we still need that mortgage for our apartment). And then, a bit of eighties dancing in the disco (my most horrendous memory of the entire cruise).

The setup and atmosphere were distinctly horrifying, and needless to say, there's no risk of Delta or I ever going on a cruise again.

But that aside, I do have to admit, we had a simply marvelous time. All our friends together on one boat for five days - how could it go wrong?! There were meals together, and soaking in the sun, and lounging by the pool, and wallowing in the hot tub. There was so much to be done, and hardly enough time to do it. There were anecdotes to be told, and re-told. And memories to be shared, and pranks to be played.

That by the end of it, we had quite accustomed ourselves to the idea of vacationing together. As we left on the last day, there were already ideas being spun for winter ski breaks to be spent together. And cruise aside, I'm fairly sure that's exactly what Billy and Anneliese were thinking of, when they planned their wedding on the cruise.

Thank gawd for scopolomine

Who woulda thunk we'd be going on a cruise.

That was possibly the last vacation on Delta's and my minds. And yet, when his friends decided to have their wedding on a cruise to Bermuda, we thought, hell, why not - when would we ever go on a cruise otherwise?!

And then we read about Hurricane Bertha, developing in Atlantic. And we thought, eeks, imagine the plight of those poor people whose cruises face hurricanes.

And then we read that Hurricane Bertha is headed right for Bermuda at the same time that our cruise is supposed to head there.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080711/ap_on_re_us/tropical_weather

Oh, crikey. Who woulda thunk.

A rainy day conundrum

I have three umbrellas, and I store them with a fair amount of calculated strategy: one in my apartment, one in Delta's apartment, and one in my office at work. The idea being, of course, that should an unpredicted shower suddenly catch me off guard, I always have an umbrella close at hand.

This ingenious tactic has saved me through many a drenching over the course of time. But let me tell you, the success of such a plan involves its fair share of mental expenditure. Taking an umbrella from one place to another (because of the rain) and then forgetting to bring it back (because it's sunny the next day) can throw the entire plan off kilter.

Which brings me to last week, when I somehow managed to flummox myself into leaving all three umbrellas at Delta's. Which means, I somehow managed to get wet twice this week, while Delta was away, despite actually owning three umbrellas.

It's just like that riddle: how do you take a tiger, a sheep and a bundle of grass across the river, one at a time.

With some mental application, I still feel I might be able to triumph.

Audacity

The other day, I was waiting in queue at Starbucks, and there was an elderly woman in front of me. She looked the rather well-off kind. Well, you know - the regular Starbucks kind. When she reached the counter,

"Can I just have an empty cup?" she asked.
Then, cup in hand, she shuffled over to the milk and sugar counter, and proceeded to fill the entire cup with milk.

Superslueth Ficali was, of course, watching the entire action covertly, while pretending to innocently wait my turn in line. To be honest, I was as impressed as I was aghast. This entirely beat the Smooth Criminal move Doobs, Bobbis, Delta and I had pulled earlier in the year when we snuck in an extra movie at the cinema. Nope. This was Bonnie and Clyde caliber. Anyways, it's all about bringing down the Establishment, right? Especially when the establishment is Starbucks (a.k.a. FiveBucks).

Just then, "hey!" shouted the Starbucks attendee. And went over to where the woman was neatly finishing topping up the glass with the last sip of milk she could fit in there.
"You're going to have to pay for that milk, ma'am" the attendee told her firmly.

I didn't blame him, I suppose. He was just being the good corporate citizen. I thought she might apologise and pay for the milk. But boy, I guess I just don't understand human nature at all.

"What do you mean?!" She exclaimed, "Why are you picking on me?! I'm just adding milk to my coffee same as everyone else."
"Ma'am, that's a whole glass of milk, and Im afraid you're going to have to pay for it."
"I refuse to pay. I just bought my coffee, and now I'm adding milk."
"Ma'am, I just gave you that empty cup. You didn't buy any coffee. Now if you would kindly pay for the milk, I would really appreciate it."

I, of course, absorbed by the situation playing out in front of me, had totally forgotten my own coffee. Anyway, this was far more entertaining. Wow, all this for a glass of milk? I hope Starbucks knew how lucky they were to have this employee. I hope he gets promoted to head barista for this.

The woman, obviously, was rather less impressed by his antics than I was. She slammed the glass of milk down on the table (some milk splashed out with dramatic effect). She tossed her head and snorted. "Scumbags!" she said (although she'd been the one thieving). And she stalked out the door, filled with a genuine sense of self-righteousness.

Queen boss in the house

I was rudely awakened this morning with a nudge to my face. I awoke to the sight of Kitty McDelta's face pressed right up against mine, staring straight into my eyes.

"Aaah!" I shouted, and leaned back in a moment of panic (before I realised it was just Kitty McDelta).
"Maow!" She squawked back at me, and prodded my nose again with her paw.
I could have sworn, if she wasn't a cat, that was the human equivalent of a punch in the nose.

"Morning, Kitty" I mumbled, rubbing my nose sleepily.
"Maow!" she squawked again, gesturing towards her food bowl.

It was breakfast time, and she wasn't having any of this 'sleeping-in' rubbish.

As I hauled myself out of bed and headed over to the food cabinet, she was instantly her old self again, purring and rubbing herself affectionately against my calves. Don't get me wrong. I didn't forget for a moment that had I changed my mind and gone back to bed, I would have been greeted with another punch in the face.

Now I know how used and downtrodden parents can feel like.