My Daughter’s Wedding
Peter and I rented a large house with a pool and hot tub for my two nieces and their partners, who were flying over from England to attend my daughter’s wedding in Mill Valley, California. My nieces, Susan and Marcy, are identical twins. I thought by now, at the age of 35, they would have started looking different, but as I inspected their faces at the airport, searching for a way l will not call Susan, Marcy and Marcy, Susan, I realized they still were identical. Even their bodies are built the same. Fortunately, the twin’s partners are not identical twins, so that’s a safe way to identify who is who. Susan is with a new boyfriend, Craig, from Hungary and Marcy is with her husband, Kevin, a down-to-earth Brit. After warm greetings we piled them into the car and drove to the Airbnb house.
The next morning, I leapt out of bed at 6 am and made a pot of coffee. Before I took my first sip of coffee, the twins appeared. Damn, why do the twins have to have the same pajamas? Now I’m scared to talk to them, worried l will make a reference about their work, and one will turn around and say, what they have a million times over the years – no Jill, that’s Marcy she’s the travel agent–and I will feel like an absolute idiot.
Day one was a pool day. Both of my daughters joined us with grandchildren. Craig and Kevin had trim bodies and both wore tight Italian swimming trunks. Peter used to have a pair of those when I first met him. I stopped him from wearing them when it looked like he was flashing our son-in-law.
As I sat by the pool, my niece, Marcy, snuggled up to me and began to chat.
“Have you seen the green dog?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Why is our cousin’s white cockapoo green?”
“We currently have a drought, and it’s not acceptable to water the grass. Therefore, lawns are brown. They have just moved into their new home and the previous owner thought it would make the house more attractive to buyers if he sprayed the grass green, which he did. The dog likes to roll in the grass.”
“That’s awful.”
“You will see many strange things in America, Marcy.”
After chatting with Marcy, I jumped at the opportunity to have the kitchen to myself and ran to organize the evening meal. I was in my element serving dinner on a long table to ten family members.
The next day was the church rehearsal at 2 pm, followed by rehearsal dinner at 4 pm. A complete contrast to the Spanish wedding dinner time. At around noon I announced that we must all be dressed and ready to leave at 1:30 pm. At 1:15 pm I began to wonder what had happened to Peter. He needed to come upstairs and get dressed. Finally, annoyed, I marched downstairs to get him.
“Peter. You need to get ready.”
Silence. I repeated the sentence, louder, but at the same time, I realized that my feet were wet. Water was rushing out of a bathroom and soaking the carpet. I looked at the water and suddenly realized that there was excrement floating in the water.
“Tell them to stop showering upstairs!” Peter screamed from the bathroom. Hearing the yelling, cousins and partners came rushing down with the result that all of us were standing ankle-deep in water and shit, and every individual wanted to be the group leader regarding how to solve the problem. I grabbed the Airbnb manual and called, and then texted the owner after no one answered the phone. We threw all the towels on the carpet to soak up the water, unfortunately, it resulted in the shit sticking to the towels. The water kept pouring out of the toilet. Fortunately, Craig finally found the mains and turned the water off. But the grand finale was Susan, or was it Marcy, slipping in the water and landing on excrement with her hand and backside.
Screaming, she dropped her towel and ran naked towards the swimming pool and jumped in. It was 1:45 pm and the rehearsal began in 15 minutes with Peter supposedly walking the bride into the church.
Fortunately, the owner responded immediately with a text:
I’m on my way to the house with an emergency plumber, and cleaning crew.
Peter and I agreed that I would take everyone to the church, and he would make sure the crew had arrived and then join us.
Peter arrived. We were scolded for being late. Rehearsal was completed, and we drove to the restaurant for the dinner. The dinner was held in a private room next to the restaurant.
“Drinks?” Peter asked the group. We nodded in approval.
“They only have beer and wine. I think we need martinis; follow me.” The five of us followed Peter to the bar in the restaurant where Marcy insisted we try Espresso Martinis as she was currently writing a travel article about Espresso Martinis around the world. We all agreed and toasted the fact that we had survived the first wedding hiccup.