More Tales
Jun. 17th, 2003 02:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jawnbcof the Egan boyz
Marriage--a holy sacrament cementing the bond between a husband and wife? Or just another excuse for a whack of Oirish people to get fookin' langers (drunk)?
In our family, both. And we've had some, uh, interesting weddings.
Cousin Eileen: When the ceremony started, we should've known the marriage wouldn't last. Eileen and Scottie were gonna do a civil ceremony, but the family wasn't buying. So they picked the only Saturday available in the immediate future at St. Camillus (apparently the patron saint of attending Mass in flip-flops, a t-shirt and shorts over your bathing suit), but the priest officiating would be "the new guy."
So we all went, and sat on the Bride's side, and were kinda excited about this first wedding in my generation. And Father Wassisname comes in, steps to the front of the altar, genuflects, stands and turns. And opens his mouth speak...
...and a purse falls out. Not merely effeminate, but broad, flat, nasal, gum-snapping Brooklyn girl effeminate. Immediately half of us slid down in the pews and covered our faces in the missal. In my head I was saying, "must not look at Tommy, must not guffaw in church." Tommy, suffice to say, was poking me in the side and trying to make eye contact.
If that wasn't enough, Eileen actually got into a fistfight at the reception. With a guy. And she put a beatin' on him, followed by a lilting a capella version of The Fields of Athenry. There wasn't a dry eye in the house--and at least one shiner on the poor lil' fook who took Eileen on.
Cousin Tricia: We like Tricia's husband Mike now, but it took a while. Good guy, but strait-laced (Air Force). And at their reception there were in fact 2 receptions happening: his family and our family.
His: good table manners, polite conversation, the odd chuckle
Hers: dancing on tables, beer chugging contests, generous use of swear words and other vulgarities
It was like an invisible force field kept the two receptions of seeing each other. For a while.
Tricia tossed the bouquet, Mike's sister caught it. Mike tossed the garter, I caught it. So we go out to do the 'put the garter on her leg' shtick. I smile and say, "don't worry I won't do anything to embarass you, this is all in good fun." Her reply was, "you better believe you won't," with a condescending sneer.
Bad move on her part--we Egan's can let some things pass better than others. Condescension, however, brings out the worst in us. Probably comes from being raised like we are, in fact, the chosen people. Meaning Egans--not Oirish or Catlicks. But I digress...
...I begin sliding the garter up her locked-at-the-knees leg. And our side starts doing the "higher! higher!" chant as I slide the garter up her, uh, beefy calf. I smile, she sneers. I snapped.
In one motion I fall onto my haunches, wrap one foot around the leg of her chair and push the garter as high as I can. Quite high.
I thought her face was quite red: apparently the groom's was even more so--poor Tricia spent most of the balance of the reception convincing him not to punch my lights out.
Our side greeted me with hi-5s, and we continued on our merry way. Eventually some of the groom's side joined us, but they couldn't keep up and went back to their side (tails between their legs). Eventually we were kicked out of the catering hall and repaired to the hotel where we were all staying. To which the police were called several times. But no charges were laid, so that doesn't really count--does it?
Marriage--a holy sacrament cementing the bond between a husband and wife? Or just another excuse for a whack of Oirish people to get fookin' langers (drunk)?
In our family, both. And we've had some, uh, interesting weddings.
Cousin Eileen: When the ceremony started, we should've known the marriage wouldn't last. Eileen and Scottie were gonna do a civil ceremony, but the family wasn't buying. So they picked the only Saturday available in the immediate future at St. Camillus (apparently the patron saint of attending Mass in flip-flops, a t-shirt and shorts over your bathing suit), but the priest officiating would be "the new guy."
So we all went, and sat on the Bride's side, and were kinda excited about this first wedding in my generation. And Father Wassisname comes in, steps to the front of the altar, genuflects, stands and turns. And opens his mouth speak...
...and a purse falls out. Not merely effeminate, but broad, flat, nasal, gum-snapping Brooklyn girl effeminate. Immediately half of us slid down in the pews and covered our faces in the missal. In my head I was saying, "must not look at Tommy, must not guffaw in church." Tommy, suffice to say, was poking me in the side and trying to make eye contact.
If that wasn't enough, Eileen actually got into a fistfight at the reception. With a guy. And she put a beatin' on him, followed by a lilting a capella version of The Fields of Athenry. There wasn't a dry eye in the house--and at least one shiner on the poor lil' fook who took Eileen on.
Cousin Tricia: We like Tricia's husband Mike now, but it took a while. Good guy, but strait-laced (Air Force). And at their reception there were in fact 2 receptions happening: his family and our family.
His: good table manners, polite conversation, the odd chuckle
Hers: dancing on tables, beer chugging contests, generous use of swear words and other vulgarities
It was like an invisible force field kept the two receptions of seeing each other. For a while.
Tricia tossed the bouquet, Mike's sister caught it. Mike tossed the garter, I caught it. So we go out to do the 'put the garter on her leg' shtick. I smile and say, "don't worry I won't do anything to embarass you, this is all in good fun." Her reply was, "you better believe you won't," with a condescending sneer.
Bad move on her part--we Egan's can let some things pass better than others. Condescension, however, brings out the worst in us. Probably comes from being raised like we are, in fact, the chosen people. Meaning Egans--not Oirish or Catlicks. But I digress...
...I begin sliding the garter up her locked-at-the-knees leg. And our side starts doing the "higher! higher!" chant as I slide the garter up her, uh, beefy calf. I smile, she sneers. I snapped.
In one motion I fall onto my haunches, wrap one foot around the leg of her chair and push the garter as high as I can. Quite high.
I thought her face was quite red: apparently the groom's was even more so--poor Tricia spent most of the balance of the reception convincing him not to punch my lights out.
Our side greeted me with hi-5s, and we continued on our merry way. Eventually some of the groom's side joined us, but they couldn't keep up and went back to their side (tails between their legs). Eventually we were kicked out of the catering hall and repaired to the hotel where we were all staying. To which the police were called several times. But no charges were laid, so that doesn't really count--does it?
Re: Irish weddings...
Date: 2003-06-17 07:15 pm (UTC)