Asia travelogue: a very bali wedding

Dear Diary,

Today I had an egg sandwich for breakfast. It tasted good. I also went for a swim, which was fun. Then I witnessed the most beautiful scene staged by human beings I will likely ever behold in my life.

Elegant to the point of obscenity. Grace distilled, materialized, and fashioned into a procession down the aisle. 90 bodies stand, 90 heads turn, 90 breaths held. Two persons marry in a small glass cliffside chapel overlooking the sea, with the sky ablaze by sunset.

Bride’s father chokes up during his verse reading. Don’t understand why he tries to finish. The emotional sobs of an elderly man in naked view of his friends and family say more about unconditional love and devotion than any quote from the Old Book.

The heat oppresses, especially those of us in full formal suits. Sweating through my woolen best grates me. Rar.

Revelry continues. Dinner is the best wedding meal I have ever had. Hard to argue with pan-seared beef topped with foie gras. We bribe the waiter to sneak us extras from the kitchen.

I decide I had enough and start a long parade of whiskey on the rocks. Bad day to forget the pepcid ac. Pink to red. Red to crimson. Comments. Thanks, no I didn’t realize I was pioneering new shades of human flesh. Bride’s mother visits our table. Openly admires the mohawk and nudges to point out there is a table full of Japanese girls over there. Crimson to fucking maroon. I have enough attention and take my drink to cool down in the only air conditioned room on the premises: the men’s bathroom. One day I will write that poem about that night I sat on a couch in a bathroom at a wedding staring into the mirror weighing my life in between gulps of Glenfinnitch.

Later: fireworks. Not metaphorical. Actual. Fireworks.

Retire to the pool. Because I need to cool off.

Congratulations, J&R. You deserve it all.

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