Braggarts

I have an aunt. Though I've never heard the story, I assume that at some point Jesus Christ himself must have come down and blessed her uterus, possibly through the fertility treatments she and my uncle underwent. Because to hear her talk--and talk she does--no more ideal children have ever been conceived than her four, until her grandchildren, who are perfection distilled.

This is the woman who gave birth to my absolute favorite cousin ever, who lives in LA with his smoking hot wife and works in a recording studio and (I imagine) smokes a lot of pot while enjoying his exile from the conservative swamp we live in. I have no idea how he managed to come out of that family so cool.

When I was applying to colleges, I left a family get-together in tears, with my mother so furious she almost couldn't drive. First off, I committed a major faux pas by surpassing all her children (including Favorite Cousin, who is very intelligent) on standardized tests. I was told repeatedly that F. C. "could have done better, if he'd just retaken them." Not only that, but when she found out the schools I was looking at, she saw fit to inform me that F.C. "was recruited by Harvard, you know, because he was a scholar and an athlete." Harvard doesn't recruit. Bitch. If I wanted to go there, I would have applied there, and your perfect son ended up at a state school, and that's what you just can't stand.

(side note: I was thisclose to going to OSU. I have no snobbery when it comes to state/private universities. My aunt? You guessed it.)

The firstborns of this family were boy and girl twins, the girl first. The most beautiful precious baby girl that ever was, of course. After she was crowned homecoming queen, the sight of her leg through the slit in her gown caused an opposing player to miss the game-winning foul shot. (according to my aunt) That's the caliber of woman we're talking here.

My cousin got married, about seven years ago, and I was in the wedding. Lovely dress, nice ceremony, complicated by the fact that lightning struck the church steeple about half an hour before and the minister was trapped in the elevator when the power went out. That story's only been told about thirty or forty times.

My aunt and my cousin are the reason that I do not want a large wedding. In fact, I'd like for there to be less than twenty people at the actual ceremony--including the officiant, my husband, and I. I want only people who love me and wish me well to be there, not people who will only snipe and compare. Nothing, in my aunt's mind, will ever compare to her daughter's wedding. I could wear a dress made entirely of platinum and it wouldn't matter. So I won't give her the opportunity. I will have my wedding and it will be as happy as I can possibly make it, and she can pick at the fucking pictures.

all the things I daren't say

you should know that you're my hero
not in the "you save me" sense
but that I love to watch you stride about
trying to teach and inspire the whole damn world
that you don't care it's an impossible task
that you live your three ideals, love truth honor
like another superman we know
and darling, you should really know that
you don't have to wear a cape for me to be your Lois Lane.