Mood:
party time!Topic: "Weddin' Down South" (3)
Frodo was doing his absolute best to appear nonplussed. He shook hands with each gentleman who came by, hugged most of the ladies, and bowed respectfully to everyone who introduced themselves to him that day. It was then that he realized that his boxer shorts were on backward. How, he thought to himself, could that have happened? Trying to clear his mind from this obvious faux pas, he tamped a Pall Mall from the pack, and promptly lit the filter end of the cigarette.
Presbyterian churches all appear to have been built with the same bricks used in Colonial Williamsburg. Although Frodo had never paid any attention whatsoever to the architectural aspects of any church subsequent to his year-long tour of Houses of Worship from the Medieval Period in Germany, he did think it appropriate to look about and try to remember as much as he could about this day. Given the fact that the "Scarlett O'Hara," the "Purple Passion," the "Harvey Wallbanger," and their associates from the night before were still being absorbed into Frodo's bloodstream, it was an accomplishment that he could structure consequential thoughts of any tangible magnitude.
Russell Frost was there. Frodo would never see his roommate from the College of the Shire again. All these years, and cancer still kills.
Randy Dorsey was there. For a black man who had never been south of Alexandria, it was a great tribute to Frodo that he stood for him in Tennessee on that day. The night before, Randy had hesitated to step onto the balcony of the motel without shielding himself behind one of the paler-skinned participants. It also had not helped that the lady who conducted the rehersal had continued to call him "Andy."
Frodo's father was there, as his Best Man. Certainly an easy choice. Frodo's father had never before tasted an alcoholic beverage in Frodo's presence, but a glass of champagne must go down easy when your son gets married.
Legolas was there, the handsomest of the Fellowship. To this day they communicate over the miles in ways unexplained, and in the closest of bonds. Minutes together, though years apart, are as if they had seen each other but hours before.
The next morning, at the airport, as they prepared to depart for the City of Orleans, they saw the Dean of Women from the College of the Shire. Frodo walked away from his new bride and approached the hawk-nosed hag who had never missed an opportunity to give Frodo grief. Frodo greeted the Warlock by pointing to his new bride, and announcing that he had spent the last night with her in the Holiday Inn. The fact that it was perfectly legal and proper must have slipped his memory.
Frodo still thinks she was actually Barbara Bush.
And that's the way it was, April 25, 1970. The best day.
Posted by loveysdaddyga
at 11:00 PM EDT
