You Don't Mess With the Wedding Gods

The groom, MomQueenBee, and a glimpse of my favorite outfit ever.

Next to "So what do you think of finally getting a daughter?" the question I was asked most often during the run-up to the Wedding of the Century was "What are you going to wear?"

Well. As we know, the wedding gods have decreed that the mother of the groom should wear beige and shut up. I do not do either of those things well: Beige washes me out, and shutting up? As if.

I looked long and hard for an ensemble to wear on the big day, and Much Older Sister (as always) saved the day by finding EXACTLY the right choice. The picture with today's post only hints at its extravagant blingy-ness--a long black velvet skirt, paired with a jacket so bedazzling it might be visible from the space station.

I. Loved. It.

I loved the turquoise shade that matched the theme color of the day, I loved the daringly exposed neckline that showed off the most beautiful piece of jewelry I've owned since my wedding ring (an entire post is coming on this), I loved that it was comfortable and cool even on the dance floor, I even loved that it dripped sparkle everywhere and I had to brush off everyone I hugged, and I hugged everyone.

I felt absolutely gorgeous, and was so glad I hadn't followed the traditional beige mandate.

But then, on Wednesday I felt a tickle in my throat. By Thursday I was popping AirBorne tablets as if they were SweetTarts, hoping to ward off any virus that might have targeted me. By Saturday evening, though,  my voice was a Tallulah Bankhead-ish growl.

Apparently the wedding gods cannot make me wear beige, but they can make me shut up.

Well played, wedding gods. Well played.