My daughter’s friend, Aleeta, just got married. (And yes all you savvy readers, I did use the name Aleeta in my book It’s A Mall World After All. I habitually stick my children’s friends’ names in my novels.) Anyway, so Aleeta is now officially a Mrs.
My daughter is nineteen. Aleeta is twenty. When my daughter first told me Aleeta was engaged, I gasped and said, “But she’s so young! What’s the rush?”
My daughter then reminded me that I was twenty when I got married. In fact, I was younger than Aleeta because my wedding happened about a week after my twentieth birthday.
Details. Details. Twenty-years-old was older back when I was twenty.
So although the reception was lovely and beautiful and everything a reception should be, it was a little weird because I kept thinking that my daughter–my baby–could be next.
I realized I should start paying attention to reception details because who knows when I’ll be put in charge of arranging one.
The conversation between my daughter and I went like this:
Me: I know, why don’t you get married on December 26th? That way we can rummage through the Christmas tree lots for discarded evergreens. Wouldn’t that make for nice decorations? We could set up rows of Christmas trees in the church’s gymnasium.
My daughter: No.
Me: And all the Christmas candy will be fifty percent off–think refreshment table.
My daughter: I’m going to elope.
Well, I hope not for awhile, anyway.