I’m taking a short hiatus from my newfound theatre review career (which I’m still waiting for it to take off) to recap and write about the beauty of the love of Bridget and PK. I don’t think I’ve ever written two blog posts about a person so I hope Bridget takes this as a truly special honor and tells her grandchildren about it years down the line. What an interesting relationship I have with Bridget, in the fact that I’ve only met up with her now two times in my life. The first resulted in us getting matching tattoos and the second was me being invited to her wedding. I can only assume that the third will involve me helping her in the delivery room if past experiences are any indication of how I always end up around for momentous events. I know I normally try to limit my cursing in these posts anyway, but I’ll ensure I do so in this post specifically so Bridget can hang this framed copy in her den for all of her giant Irish family to see.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. For I am a modern day Charles Dicks, I like to start with a reference of his that makes no sense to the context of Bridget’s wedding. Or does it? We did have a book club together (RIP) so I’ll consider it relevant. Like all good weddings, a man arrived late to a rehearsal dinner after being scammed by a cab driver with suitcase in tow. Who was that man? I was that man. I walked in, pink backpack representing my zany flair, and seemed to have my hand immediately kissed by a boy who really liked kissing hands. If there’s anything I can tell you about the Daly clan, it’s that they know how to make someone welcome. For instance, my associate, Javier, had not even met Bridget until the day before her wedding. Of course he’d been in a group chat with her for what feels like hundreds of years and they’d developed a bond, even if as pen pals. By the time I got there, he was referencing all these folks by name that I still didn’t know by the end of the weekend and it seemed like he was already a part of the family. Calling someone Aunty so and so and Papa John. I don’t know how much I actually have to expound upon regarding the rehearsal dinner for I only was there for the last 45 minutes of it anyway. They did call soda, pop though. It’s these kind of tangents that are going to not have this prominently displayed on her wall. Let’s head onto the wedding.

The glitz, the glamour, the old adorable priest. Nothing like a ceremony at a Catholic church where you have no idea what to do for over 75% of the traditions. Did I feel a little weird as one of the few people who didn’t kneel before I walked into the pew? Or as a person who didn’t know what to do for Communion so I just sat there? Or when there was a Peace Be With You moment where you shake hands with everyone and I didn’t know what was happening so I shook someone’s hand and said: “Nice to meet you.”? I realize this is mainly just a retelling of my events of her wedding, but again, I’ll throw in some schmaltzy things as well. When the bride walked down the aisle, the whole congregation spontaneously burst into tears and gasps of the great beauty that walked before us. There was a lot of kneeling involved in the ceremony, there was a lot of healing, and there was a lot of peeling. Peeling onions because the tears were flowing. I know it’s typically chopping but it didn’t work with the sentence structure. Again, I’m not sure everything that actually happened during the wedding because I was very focused on getting as many good shots of Bridget (and PK) as I could for the international spectators who wanted to be at the wedding and couldn’t. What else is there to say about the wedding that hasn’t already been said? It was a beautiful ceremony, it was a beautiful church, I realized I was the only male in the entire attendance that wasn’t wearing a tie, and it took me a long time to realize that the pianist was singing songs and it wasn’t a recording.

Should I already have moved onto the reception? I’m not sure, but I didn’t think I would already have this many words which is making it seem like it’ll be a few pieces of paper framed in the den by the time I’m finished. The reception, wow, what a reception! Let me tell you, the only downfall of a coat check woman and an open bar is when you realize you have no cash because of a scummy cab driver and you feel guilty every time you get a drink and mutter under your breath, “I’d pay you if I had money and/or you took cards for tips”. Did they ever hear me? I do not know. But their face of disdain as I continue to not slip them a dollar will forever be burnt into my corneas. Oh right, the wedding though. What a wedding, lemme tell ya! There were many types of appetizers, there were seating placements with chocolate attached, there was a bathroom with gold in it! What else can be said about the reception? Knowing me, a lot more redundant information. I did conclude the night thinking “I want to be Irish.” Just for the sheer fact that they love imbibing and they love doing dances where they do a lot of kicks. As an aspiring tap dancer myself, I think it could do me well to learn from the Lords of the Dance. When one has such a collective of people as Bridget and Paul did for their wedding, I think one can ascertain that these are people who are beloved. That people don’t fly from out of the country, from out of state to see people that they consider a mere acquaintance. I love Bridget, my bud Javier loves Bridget, I love PK vicariously through her love, and obviously, hundreds of other people must as well if they showed and stayed throughout the entire ceremony and afterparties. Though it may have taken the beginning beat of Mambo #5 to get me and brown boy to the dance floor, we did, we shared merriment with the Irish, with the Jennrichs, and we got to watch Alabama beat Oklahoma in the college football playoff.

I will conclude on schmaltz because I don’t need to waste more words on the complexity of the squash bisque or the deliciousness of the assorted desserts. I could speak about the heart wrenching, heartwarming, speeches by both the parents of the bride and groom, the beautiful words spoken by the sister, by the brother, but I’ll just end on my own thoughts. I have known Bridget a long time and though we’ve rarely been around each other in person, I consider her a dear and close friend. I’ve watched her bloom and blossom from a young lady to a still young married lady. I may not have seen her grow in spirit with my own eyes, but I’ve watched her evolve and become a better and better person. Who do I have to thank for that? I would like to say myself and though I imagine I did a lot with those limited engagements we had together, I have to give credit to Barb, to Papa John, to Cait, and most importantly to PK. Though I barely know him, minus the fact that he has an extremely strong grip, I will always be thankful for him for the happiness he brings to Bridget. If he was a big reason that she’s been much more absent in the group that brought us all together, I can only imagine how amazing he must be to take time away from me, Effy, Javier, and the various characters that have come and gone throughout the years. Just because I don’t know him doesn’t mean I don’t know Bridget and again, seeing the change in her throughout the years or in the more recent years, I am thankful for him to have ignited. Papa John and Barb and Cait did an amazing job molding such a wonderful woman, and Paul was there to apply some finishing touches to create the person that we all cherish dearly today. It was a beautiful reception, it was a beautiful ceremony, it was and is a beautiful couple. Again, I can’t wait to be in the delivery room, possibly as a nurse, probably as a doctor and I know I’ll see PK and Bridget beaming at one another then just like they did the entire wedding and just like they will until the end of time. Congratulations to the married couple, and may your love last as long as time, and then some more. So it goes.