Christine and Kyle were married this weekend. Christine is a former coworker, and, more importantly, a great friend who used to support one of my more peanut-chocolaty vices: M&Ms.
The ceremony was very nice, and the reception was at a quaint country-inn-with-a-reception-room-glue-gunned-onto-the-back-type of establishment called Nostalgia, in Chalfont (tried to link it up, Nostalgia, but your website looks to be on siesta…www.nostalgiawedding.com, one way or the other). Up to this point, things were normal.
Then, someone pulled out the fish hats. They were well-made, clearly premeditated, and maybe even pre-premeditated. People put on the fish hats. LOTS of people. I asked the bride politely, “What the hell is happening?”
And that’s when the conga line started up. Now, in a room packed full of people, I’ll be the first to claim that conga lines are aesthetic hate crimes. But man do they sure make for good pictures, and that’s even without piscatory headwear.
Turns out it was Fish Amnesty Day, which some people take pretty seriously (sorry PETA, I tried to set up a link but your website wasn’t having it either), and some people take less so. It’s actually an effort to get people to stop fishing and eating fish, but it sounds more fun if hats are involved. I think the effort put into the hats, and the earnestness with which they were danced under, negotiated a pretty effective middle ground between sober and slapstick, which is something everyone needs a bit more of these days.
Christine looked lovely, of course, and it was a fantastic time.