We had a long day yesterday. We drove 3 1/2 hours to Evansville to go to a wedding for one of Jill's childhood friends. This is the third of four out of state weddings that she's in -- one more to go -- in the period of three months. Basically, it's an "always a bridesmaid" trend that she seems to have started when she got married last year, but I'm ok with it, cause we have gotten to see her more than normal. I'm not complaining.
The boys rode down with us. To clarify: Thomas and Seth rode down with us, because my pseudo-son Chris was already down there, since he was also in the wedding. Thomas and Seth came out and spent the night here, which was nice, but it was all in the plan, so we didn't have to a) drive into town to get them and b) wait for them to get ready, because we all know that they would still be asleep when we went to pick them up. The mother knows her boys.
So, somehow on the way down, they got into a discussion about heights. Specifically, fear of heights. To be more specific, FALLING from heights. Seth remarked that he thought Thomas was afraid of heights, to which Thomas replied "nah, I am afraid of ladder heights. I'm not afraid of high heights. I'm afraid of falling off a ladder and getting hurt. I figure if you fall off a tall enough height, like a bridge, or a building, then you're gonna die, so there's nothing to be afraid of, cause you're just gonna be dead. I'd rather be dead then in pain." Seth replied that it'd probably suck on the way to dying, and you'd probably be scared too. "But if I was falling from a height like that, I'd probably just fan out like a flying squirrel."
We went to the wedding and reception, which was an odd mishmash of formalwear, jeans and boots, and an old tightly-pulled woman in what I thought was snakeskin print pants, only to find out while in the buffet line that I think they were actually snakeskin print sweats. I mean, is there really such a thing? Combine that with the guy walking around in actual sweats and a baseball cap, and it kept people watchers like Jim and me busy all night. He was particularly enjoying watching a former church friend/lush, who walked in with her own Minute Maid container (full of cherry vodka) that she drank dry before the wedding started, then switched to wine, then beer. I'm sure she was feeling it today, but that's her M.O. I was interested in the people who brought take out containers and proceeded to fill them up before the buffet line was torn down. Fun times.
Good times were had by all, including Jill, who sweet talked the DJ into playing her request first, Seth, who shared many hilarious moments with Michael, and Thomas, who professed to hating weddings, but then didn't want to leave. This may have had something to do with the free beer but he eventually decided it best to go with us, as we were returning home after the reception. The boys and Jim piled in and we headed off. I stopped to fill the tank at a gas station, and made a face at Seth in the window while I was standing there. He made a horrified faced not at all unlike Edward Munch's "Scream" at Thomas at the same time, I hadn't even gotten all the way back in when I realized that either the Bud Light had kicked in, or there was a dead animal in the car. "Damn, boy," was all Jim could say. Seth was just gasping for air. Now, you know it's bad if I can smell it, because I can't smell anything -- and this was just awful. I couldn't get the windows down fast enough. "Damn boy, next time, stay away from the Bud. Coors isn't nearly that bad," I said. All he could say was that it came straight from Satan's Butthole, which Seth pointed out meant that Thomas was Satan, and that I had given birth to Satan.
That boy is just full of philosophical thoughts.