Weddings. As in, my brother’s.

My brother is getting married on Saturday. Funny thing. I have a thousand thoughts on this topic that I might come back to another day. I might title it: Bryan– the type of brother to walk into your gymnastics class and do a standing back tuck when you have been working on it for a year passing through all the appropriate levels while he was just there with your dad to pick you up. I think that explains the problem of him getting married before me.

The heavier topic on my mind, though, as I think about the upcoming weekend is: The Aunts. The Aunts are the older and younger sister of a one Dorothy Lee Dismukes, otherwise known as Crazy Grammy. The Aunts hover just above and below the mental frequency of Grammy, shorting out at all the same places. This means at least 5 times, one of them will approach me and say, sweetly, with a twinkle, “Darlin? Anything speeeeecial in your life?” and they’ll wink, leaning in, eagerly anticipating an engagement story.

When I don’t produce, they’ll lower their glasses, cock their heads to the side and say, “We-ell, sugar. You just aren’t sweet enough, thats all. You know your cousin Darcy is getting married next week. And Will just graduated Law School.”

They’ll all turn and compliment each other on such successful grandkids, momentarily forgetting pathetic old me in front of them. Then they’ll turn back and squint, automatically zooming in to the teeniest flaw on my face before they can even help themselves, and my grandma will take off her glasses and say, “Brookie? Do you need some more Clinique?” in the sweetest possible voice, and I’ll say, “No grammy. I’m fine.”

She hasn’t bought me Clinique since 8^th grade.

So she’ll pull her head back and raise her eyebrows as she puts her glasses back on just in time to spot a hideous pair of orange slingbacks walking by that she immediately needs to go address.

I love her. I really do. And one day when she’s long gone, well laugh about these things. I just wanted to get a head start.