At the end of the day

So the question that seems to be on everyone's mind: Did editorgirl survive yesterday? And I know the quick witted will reply, Of course--she's posting, which means she's alive, which means she survived. Those who know eg, on the other hand, will think that, but not say it. (They won't?) No, of course not. They'll wait to hear the words from the editor's mouth. (And what a lovely mouth it is too. Haven't seen it? We've got pictures.)

Did I survive? How did the day go? What do I remember? What am I going to write Sven? All imporant questions and necessary to sustain life. (Quick--name that movie.) But I'm not going to answer them. Because I'm not thinking about yesterday.

I'm not thinking about standing at the back of the crowd when my sister came out of the temple with my new brother-in-law (yes, everything is about me. Me or Master Fob.) I'm not thinking about how I unsuspectedly grew tear ducts and was hastily wiping away tears because I was worried about my mascara and my reputation. I'm not thinking about how my grandmother noticed, and then my mother, and then my sister, and finally that new brother-in-law of mine. I'm not thinking about how I completely ruined my New Years Resolution to avoid all physical contact via hugging.

I'm not thinking about picking the Jester up from his high school with a bag of clothes for him to change into, not thinking about him reading Sven's toast, not thinking about how charming he looked in his tux or how Marz looked ages older than everyone else or how she caught the bouquet (or rather tug-of-warred it away from the sister of the groom).

I'm not thinking about how I sat next to the groom's grandmother during the luncheon. I'm not thinking about how I heard about every available grandson she has and even met a few (Sean needs an active, smart wife who loves the outdoors--um try again later, lady). I'm not thinking about how at the reception I finally told my great aunt that I'm dating someone, just to stop hearing about how "we need to find someone for eg." Since when is the experation date age 22? (Although, confession time: I did run across the street to the mall today to try on Happy. I'm so pathetic.)

I'm not thinking about how Cinderella (not dressed in yellow) showed up to rescue me, just as my great aunt was beginning to explain the pain in her back. I'm not thinking about how we escaped to the alcove with my cousin Eric to chat or how Eric becomes quite entertaining when you get him away from everyone and get him talking.

I'm not thinking about. . . well, a lot of things. What am I thinking about? About my mother's baby grand and how I run into the damn thing every time I pass it.