I helped with a friend's wedding this weekend. I was the DJ for the reception. My hubby made the cakes. The whole ceremony went very well but I was reminded of when I first met the groom, Mark.
My friend, Elizabeth, brought Mark to our house to meet us and some of our other friends who were invited for the afternoon. Shortly after they arrived, I looked out the window and saw the most incredible sight. A total old lady's early eighties Caddy, sleek and tricked out in the back, ripped up and rusting in the front.
As this car is not parked in front of my house but further down the street, it doesn't occur to me that anyone I know owns it. After all, I know all my friends' cars. This assumption, coupled with my inherent inability to keep any humorous observation to myself, contributed to a disastrous first impression with Mark.
I looked out my window, started laughing, and said, "Hey, look at the geriatric ghetto-mobile!"
And Mark said, "Hi, I'm Mark. And that's my car."
No matter how often I pray for it, time never does reverse itself and no holes ever open up to swallow me.
Fortunately, Mark thought it was funny too.
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