L'chaim

My mom dragged me to her friend's son's wedding. By the way, they are Hasidic, Satmars to be precise. So we all had to be completely covered and tzniuzdik in 90-degree heat. Fun. It turned out to be not so bad though. Surprisingly, the food was not bad, but, alas, there was no booze. It took me by surprised that the actual wedding was held right on the sidewalk outside the synagogue, under a shabby chuppah. Both immediate families were so happy we were there, although some of the fellow congregants were eyeing us as if we had cooties or something. My dad was a decent sport about being one of two men seated on the women's side. Of course, he struck up a conversation on politics with the other goyim (i.e., Reform Jewish) folks seated at our goy table; as much as I tell him it's not really polite or appropriate, he always tries to convert liberals. Ho hum...