It’s gloomy, cold and cloudy, with the occasional passing rain shower day in my hometown today. And, it’s a Thursday, like so many before and so many to follow. A banal, flat-line, work-week day. A banal, flat-line, infuriatingly long work-week day that falls before the happy, light weight Friday that proceeds the always wonderful Saturday and Sunday. Monday’s a drag, but Thursday? Thursday’s a bore.
So, who chooses a Thursday to get married? Complete with wedding gown, veil, tuxedo, attendants, tiny children carrying flower baskets, bouquets, a photographer…the works! Who?! Apparently, the couple next to me.
The restaurant staff was whipped up into a frenzy about 20 minutes after I was seated. They moved tables around into a large party set up in the middle of the dining room. Shortly thereafter, people dressed in I’m-going-to-a-wedding-today outfits, complete with well dressed babies and children, took the seats. A polite, quiet cheer went up when the bride and groom walked in.
Who gets married on a Thursday? And then celebrates with friends and family in the informal neighborhood joint? These two people do, grinning non-stop from ear to ear, constantly touching, entangling finger tips, and completely unable to resist gazing into each other’s eyes. Because this neighborhood restaurant is part of what you would consider “home” if you live here, most especially if you are a fisherman (which I’m guessing our groom is). But probably more importantly, the 1st of September is, was, and always will be, the 1st of September to them, no matter the day of the week.