The lesbanian wedding


My idea of a good time is not to be shut in a car with two tired, stroppy teens on a five hour journey in holiday traffic, but that is how I spent Saturday. We were headed for my niece and her girlfriend’s wedding at my sister’s home in Cornwall, a family occasion we were genuinely looking forward to, but first we had to get there without me throwing my DD’s ipod out of the window. DS had borrowed said instrument of torture for the duration of the journey and due to his poor quality headphones I was subjected to the unbelievably irritating, second hand sound of his musical choices, for hours. And I mean hours.  But despite things getting a bit shouty at the service station when I finally put my foot down and made him turn it off, we all arrived in one piece and a wonderful wedding unfolded. Against the backdrop of a deep blue sky in a field in Cornwall two of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet made their vows, and we were all deeply moved.

As we stood afterwards with still teary eyes and glasses of champagne my DS commented on how much the ceremony had touched him. ‘ I cried, I really did ‘. He looked around at the other guests. ‘ There’s lots of lesbanians here isn’t there? ‘ – it’s a current trend amongst The Young to add extra letters into words and I liked the extended version but requested that he keep his observations to himself as ‘ Grandma  is on her way over and I don’t want to get her onto any controversial topics ‘. My mum is 82 and going deaf which makes her prone to loud comments about people standing within earshot, and as a devout Christian of advancing years she struggles with the ‘ physical side ‘ of gay relationships and I did not want her to express this view in public today. ‘ Do you understand?’ DS nods sagely, ‘ Won’t mention lesbanians once. Promise. Hello grandma, can I get you a drink? ‘

After a sit down feast in a glorious rustic chic themed tent one of my nieces did DJ duty and we danced. It’s the first time in a long while since I danced with my kids and I thoroughly recommend it as a bonding exercise.  All memories of traffic jams and family rows were forgotten as we threw some shapes together, and my DD didn’t say ‘ God, you’re embarrassing, stop dancing ‘ once.

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2 comments
  1. Kat said:

    My father in law calls lesbians “lesbitarians” like they’re a US political party.

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