The ceremony was lovely, en français, with a lovely interlude of native singing and drumming. (The groom and his family hail from an aboriginal settlement in northern Quebec and I am a bad person because I don't remember the name of the band they belong to.)
I'm not sure this was the best idea in the world but the "reception" part of the event was held as a cozy little local French restaurant. There were ten adults, five children, and an infant. At least one of the children (not one of ours, I'm happy to say) did not possess table manners of any sort. and, of course, McPie and I, as most distant "relatives" to the happy couple, had been relegated to the "kids" end of the table.
Now, McPie and I both exhibit strong traits of what is known in the DSM-IV as social anxiety disorder. Mannerless children, crying babies, and operating outside of our mother tongue (yes, I was unable to scold Mannerless because English was not an option) surrounded by couples trying vainly to enjoy romantic moments because it's VALENTINE'S DAY AT A COZY FRENCH RESTAURANT... well, it all left both of us a quivering mass of nerves. We were pretty much under the table by dessert.
We skipped the tertiary portion of the agenda (strolling through the ice sculptures downtown at 9 PM on a freezing Thursday night) and took the kids home. And took turn gulping wine straight from the bottle.
I did manage to score a few moment of supreme cuteness during the evening. Here is the wee Manu, having his way with McPie:
6 comments:
that picture is hilariously cute.
were you twitching at the restaurant?
Twitching? like CRAZY.
Kitigan Zibi Anishabaeg?
From the Algonquin First Nation outside of Maniwaki or further north perhaps? Barrier Lake?
Yes, from the Algonquin First Nation, but I don't know more details, other than that it's a nine hour drive from here...
Bill Maher:
I mean, it seems like every time I turn on the TV these days, I see some ad for some drug I never heard of, to treat some disease I never heard of. That's not a stomach ache you have from eating the chili-cheese fries at Johnny Rockets, it's Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Or I.B.S. Or as I call it, "B.S." Which would also apply to the dreaded "Social Anxiety Disorder." Or as we used to call it, "shyness." And we treated it with an old home recipe: scotch and water.
Ha! We use that SAME home remedy! Only without the water.
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