So Radek and I have returned to Poland, this time to provide our Polish friends and family with what they have, for six long months, been denied: a big drunken wedding party. It's a universal right, is it not?
At the moment we are in the final planning stages: buying trunkloads of vodka, arranging hopefully non-embarrasing party games with the band and pleading with the manicurist to spare me the dragon claw fake nails. So far so good.
The real excitement on my end is the arrival of my parents tomorrow. Finally someone who will understand the madness of wedding planning in Polish even less than me. I can play tour guide in my comfort language while Radek yaps on, tying up the loose ends with the sausage lady. (I think there's a pun in there somwhere.)
Now, a Polish wedding must be approached like a challenge. As the bride, I am obligated by tradition and honor to stay awake until at least 4 am, walking a fine line between falling asleep and passing out. This delicate balance is achieved throught the correct combination of food, alcohol and dancing. Too much or too little of any element and you will be yawning at midnight or dead drunk at one, to the embarrassment of all.
My parents and I took this assignment very seriously, personal and national pride both at stake. We are happy to report that many a Pole staggered home before we called it quits. So wedding number two was a success. But I think we'll take a break from getting married for a while, my liver needs a rest.
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