My friend hosted an English tea party (with real scones and lemon curd - oh, the wonder!) and wedding-watching extravaganza on Friday. I care not how shallow it may be...it was an AWESOME wedding. Loved the dress, loved the uniforms, loved the yellow, loved the tiara, loved the long walk down the aisle, loved the look of relief on their faces afterward, loved the flyover, loved the flower girl with her hands over her ears, and the two kisses. Lovely all the way around. Later I watched it on the internet with three of Princess Catherine Elizabeth's namesakes. We pulled out pictures from our 1999 trip to London, pointing...there we are at Westminster Abbey, there we are in front of Buckingham Palace! They asked to see my wedding gown (under the bed? what's it doing there, Mama?), which we pulled out, gently touched and ooohhed and ahhheed over. I was not brave enough to try it on...I might have broken down in tears if I wasn't able to zip it up (a most likely scenario). Big Stuff queried whether she could wear it at her own wedding one day. Talk about breaking into tears! Of course she had to throw in "IF I get married..." I think she and her sister have made some kind of pact about growing old together as spinster sisters/farmhands on their own farm, where they have already named all the horses and dogs and divvied up the daily chores. What need have they of husbands? To kill the bugs, I wonder? Nahhhh, peace and harmony will reign supreme on Biggie Small's farm. We hope the same is true in the English cottage housing two sweet newlyweds. Bless their hearts!