Wedding Finery

Tad's and Erin's wedding was a fine occasion. It allowed every single Vogler male from Grandpa Bill to the newest member, three year old Ronnie. a chance to don a tux and and brocade vest and necktie and the shiniest black shoes that ever could be found.



Tad asked me at the Rehearsal Dinner if I would get Ronnie dressed in his tux the next day. Ronnie had been telling folks that he wasn't going to be wearing that thing! So at noon the next day, Willy met us with a very dignified Charlie and Sage who were only too thrilled to be wearing their tuxes and we drove to the hotel in Santa Rosa. (Charlie would strike a stance and say, "Bond. James Bond!" he thought he looked so hot.) Sage was striking kung foo poses in his tux, not to be outdone.

It didn't take Ronnie long to want to dress like the Big Boys and we soon had him stripped down in one of the best men's rooms and tugging on his tux trousers and buttoning up the ivory dress shirt with (get this!) pearlized cuff links. As we had him step into the first patent leather shoe, he whimpered, "That hurts!"

Charlie peered over the bed at him. "'at's okay, Ronnie! It's s'posed to hurt!"

"Yeah!" Sage agreed, "Mine hurt too!"

We jammed his foot in the second shoe and I tied it up. "Dat hurts too!" he murmured.

"Well, ours do too!" Charlie and Sage chorused.

I escorted the trio of tux clad men from the room so the groom and best men could get on with their tuxes. It was now an hour and a half before the wedding would begin. The bride and her maids were on their way back from a nearby salon for hair and nails and the bride's mother was arranging placenames and flowers in the dining room. We stopped in so she could see that indeed the three year old had gotten the tux on.

"Why, don't you look grand, Ronnie!" she cooed in pleasure seeing her baby grandson appearing so grown up.

"My feet hurt!" Ronnie said.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she started to fuss over him.

"Dat okay," Ronnie stopped her. "Dey s'pose to hurt!"

But now the boys needed a nibble. In our haste to get to the hotel by one, and get the boys dressed beforehand, no one had thought of lunch. It was nearing two and I had three hungry boys. We walked through several floors of the hotel looking for an aunt's room that held the promise of Sun Chips and Seven Up but were unable to find it. The men were getting cranky and disgruntled being traipsed through miles of hotel corridors, plus my own feet were getting cranky with all the walking. We headed back to the lobby where I asked the whereabouts of the restaurant. While the desk clerk gave me the information, I had to steer Ronnie away from an assortment of Twix bars and M+M's. I didn't think chocolate would set too well with ivory colored shirts and white brocaded vests!

In the dining room, which was almost vacant, the waitress led us to a banquette with high walls. Sage and Ronnie sat across from Charlie and me. She presented them with the children's menu. There were four items on it, hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken fingers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"Look at these prices for a hamburger, Grandma!" Charlie roared, oblivious of the waitress standing by the table. "They want $8.95 for a hamburger!"

"Don't mind the prices," I told him, secretly glad I'd brought along extra twenties for this special day. "What do you want to eat?"

"I'll have a hot dog," Sage decided at once.

"Peanut butter and jelly," Ronnie said. "And French Fries."

The waitress nodded. "They come with French Fries."

"Charlie," I prompted.

"Ohhhhh, I can't decide!" he mulled the few selections over in his head. "They both sound so good: hot dog or hamburger. Hamburger or hot dog!"

"Charlie!" my tone had gotten surlier. He sounded not unlike my old granny when I'd take her out to lunch and it was torture for her to decide on an entree. But Grandma's been dead for twelve years and here sits her great-great grandson doing the same thing!

"Oh, okay! A hot dog," he flopped back in his seat, exhausted with his decision. He still looked darned good in his ivory brocade vest with the cuff links dangling precipitiously from the buttonholes. My little James Bondsians had just ordered hot dogs. What was wrong with this picture?

The waitress returned in a few minutes with three Seven-Ups and straws were unwrapped and plunged in. Ronnie commenced to slurp his down with passion. He could just barely reach the top of the cup on the table by sitting down and I encouraged him to sit on his knees, but the boy was being proper and refused with a sullen shake of his head. Nevertheless, I jerked my hand across the table a number of times to keep the Seven-Up from upending in his lap.

Every time the kitchen door opened, the boys would perk up. Their lunches had arrived! But no, they were being delivered to somebody else. At two fifteen, the waitress came back, empty handed. "I'm sorry," she cooed. "But the chef says he's out of hot dog buns."

"Oh, bring them hamburgers then," I snapped. "But hurry! The wedding starts in forty-five minutes and we don't want to be late!"

She left again. Sage sprawled forward on the table, hungry, tired and ready for something to happen. Ronnie squished his straw so hard with his teeth that he now couldn't draw anything to drink when he slurped on it. Charlie looked about him.

"You know what, Sage?" he told his brother. "This is such a fancy place that you can't see the other people who are eating their lunch! You've never taken us to such a fancy restaurant before, Grandma!"

He was quite right. Burger King and In 'n Out's do not compare with a Hilton dining room.

"You know, Sage, THIS IS WHERE THE RICH PEOPLE GO!" he roared.

I wanted to slink under the table. "Keep your voice down, Charlie," I hissed. "If you're not careful, it will be thirty years before I'll bring you to a place like this again!"

At two-thirty, only thirty minutes until the wedding was to start, the waitress brought in their luncheons. Each one, even the peanut butter and jelly, were served on the biggest platters I've seen. My Thanksgiving turkey platter isn't that big! And next to these, for each boy, was a four inch square dish, brimming with a cup of thick red ketchup!

Little boys .... white dress shirts.... vests and ties... and gobs of red ketchup!

"Be careful," I warned Charlie through my still gritted teeth. "If you get ketchup on your shirt, your mother will kill me!"

"Yeah, then she'll stick a knife in you too!" He took the top of his hamburger bun and liberally doused it in the dish of ketchup. Not to be outdone, Sage took the top off his hamburger and laid it into the ketchup dish too. Sage was sitting catty corner from me and I couldn't lean that far across the table to stop him.

"What in the world are you boys doing?" I asked aghast. Never, in the nine year history of being Grandma to these two boys has there every been a time when ketchup, relish, mustard or any other spread touched the sacred hamburger these boys would eat. If, God forbid, I ordered them one 'with everything' there were either tears or a thorough cleansing of said relishes before a little mouth would touch it. And there they were, dressed to the Nines and Tens in the fanciest duds they've ever worn in their lives, liberally drenching their hamburgers in red ketchup!!! I felt my heart palpate.

I looked wildly around the room, hoping that Daddy or Grandpa or Uncle or SOMEBODY would rescue me! Ronnie's sleeve dropped a quarter inch from his dish of ketchup as he blissfully ate French Fries. Forget the peanut butter and jelly, he was happy with his French Fries. (The night before at the Rehearsal Dinner, the waitress asked him what he wanted to drink. "French Fries," he told her. I told him he could have a Seven-Up. "What?" he asked, as she left the table. "She don't have French Fries?")

Now, Charlie's and Sage's Daddy entered the room and looked around. I waved him over and hurriedly admitted what I had done. "Hi, Daddy!" Sage greeted effusively. "Want a French Fry?"

"I don't mind if I do," Willy said, scooping one up. He was wise enough not to use any ketchup however!

Charlie pushed the remains of his hamburger into his mouth and regarded his dad. "It was okay," he told him, "but not worth eight ninety-five!"

More folks were arriving for the wedding and I got the boys out of the dinette, one by one to square them away. Charlie had a sizable glob of ketchup on his vest. I dipped one of the cloth napkins into a glass of Seven-Up and scrubbed away. Ronnie managed to get a few drops of ketchup on the suit coat after I'd buttoned it up. Seven-up took care of that too. Sage was unscathed, but most of his hamburger lay uneaten. Grandma had fussed at him too much to make it worthwhile eating.

I hustled the Little Men out of the restaurant, leaving a tip too, mind you, and we got out in front to greet our friends and relatives. But it was still some time before my nerves settled down and I could forget white shirts and brocaded vests and sublimely dressed little boys and start to enjoy the festivities!