Aprons & ribbons for a wedding
October 15, 2006 | 12:00am
Yesterday, I attended the despedida de soltera of Rachel Deslate, a charming, young pediatrician who will soon tie the knot with Gabby V. Santos, a young internist, and son of a good friend, Evelyne V. Santos. (Evelyne shared my "once-when-the-world-was-young-but-long-ago" double-date escapades.)
When Gabby approached our table to formally ask me to stand as their principal sponsor, it suddenly hit me. These kids have grown up.
I, too, have grown… old.
What am I thinking? There is another wedding that I’m attending; one that would involve more than just walking down the aisle with my kumpare. I would be the VIP, the – ta-da (drum roll, please) – honest-to-goodness, mother of the groom.
I thought by now, I would be a veteran wedding habitué but why do I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach? Worse, my hair is thinning. I asked Hector, my hairdresser, to crop my hair and with an amused grin he simply asked, "Are you in some kind of stress?"
Good golly, Miss Molly, I am. Over the packing and wrapping of 150 aprons as my son’s wedding giveaways, typhoon "Milenyo" made things worse because it spoiled my timetable and brought havoc to my once-placid sanity.
"Ate, the aprons are still wet," cried Marivic, my housekeeper. "We have to hang them outside so the printing will dry faster but the weather hasn’t cleared." Her voice was steadily rising until finally she was screaming on the phone.
Picture my heart hanging from the edge of a roller coaster about to make that 10-story-high vertical drop. I had visions of aprons being tossed by the wind and rain drenching them and ink dye running and ruining the fabric.
In the meantime, my library was in a state of siege from ribbons, ties, ball links and velum paper as we prepared the gift tags to go with the aprons. One hundred and twenty more aprons …eighty…sixty-one …forty…twenty-three ... eighteen… nine… and – hallelujah! – three, two, one. Whew.
The adrenalin rushed no more and I stopped to look out the window to see the dreamy skyline of Makati on one side, the Rockwell complex on the other with EDSA/Ortigas providing a melancholy shadow.
As if by some magical cue, Millet sent me a message, "You’re too blessed to be stressed..."
Ah, October. Isn’t this a lovely time for a wedding?
When Gabby approached our table to formally ask me to stand as their principal sponsor, it suddenly hit me. These kids have grown up.
I, too, have grown… old.
What am I thinking? There is another wedding that I’m attending; one that would involve more than just walking down the aisle with my kumpare. I would be the VIP, the – ta-da (drum roll, please) – honest-to-goodness, mother of the groom.
I thought by now, I would be a veteran wedding habitué but why do I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach? Worse, my hair is thinning. I asked Hector, my hairdresser, to crop my hair and with an amused grin he simply asked, "Are you in some kind of stress?"
Good golly, Miss Molly, I am. Over the packing and wrapping of 150 aprons as my son’s wedding giveaways, typhoon "Milenyo" made things worse because it spoiled my timetable and brought havoc to my once-placid sanity.
"Ate, the aprons are still wet," cried Marivic, my housekeeper. "We have to hang them outside so the printing will dry faster but the weather hasn’t cleared." Her voice was steadily rising until finally she was screaming on the phone.
Picture my heart hanging from the edge of a roller coaster about to make that 10-story-high vertical drop. I had visions of aprons being tossed by the wind and rain drenching them and ink dye running and ruining the fabric.
In the meantime, my library was in a state of siege from ribbons, ties, ball links and velum paper as we prepared the gift tags to go with the aprons. One hundred and twenty more aprons …eighty…sixty-one …forty…twenty-three ... eighteen… nine… and – hallelujah! – three, two, one. Whew.
The adrenalin rushed no more and I stopped to look out the window to see the dreamy skyline of Makati on one side, the Rockwell complex on the other with EDSA/Ortigas providing a melancholy shadow.
As if by some magical cue, Millet sent me a message, "You’re too blessed to be stressed..."
Ah, October. Isn’t this a lovely time for a wedding?
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