CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: NO MOSTACCIOLI, BUT WEDDING MARCHES ON

My buddy Sondra got married Saturday.

Nice wedding. Short, but sweet, right there in her mother's living room. Nobody cried (of course, it's still early), nobody threw cake at anybody, nobody was too hung over to say their vows.

When I met Sondra, she was single and sassy and very proud of it. She called a few nights before the wedding and filled me in on all the details.

Every other sentence was, "This is so weird."

Actually, once I reminded her to breathe, she calmed right down.

And she stayed calm all the way through the wedding. It is to be devoutly hoped the calm lasts through the marriage, but sometimes that can be difficult, or so I'm told.

I like weddings. The prospect of Marriage occasionally makes me a little nervous, but weddings are great. Big white dresses, flowers, confetti, champagne, and cake! Who could ask for more?

Marriage has been called a leap of faith, and it is. You stand up there in front of God and everybody and promise to love each other forever and ever, amen.

Weddings are very reassuring, even to old single women like me.

The presidency is collapsing under the weight of its own testosterone, we're about to bomb somebody somewhere in the Middle East and it's an election year again, but even with all that, people are still willing to pledge hearts and souls and give happily ever after their best shot.

Lots of strange things happen at weddings. People cry. People get in fights. People throw flowers. People get married.

With luck, people stay married, although I remember one wedding where the groomsmen started a pool on how long the marriage would last.

A few years ago, I was maid of honor and spent much of the wedding making sure the bride's bustle was where it needed to be.

Actually, it was more than a few years ago: Black and white weddings were the height of chic and bubble skirts were actually worn in public.

As anyone who has ever been a bridesmaid knows, your role is simple: Make the bride look gorgeous.

Often this means that you have to look like dog meat wrapped in pastel georgette, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Bubble skirts, however, are testing the limits.

At another wedding, the mother of the bride broke her ankle right in the middle of "The Beer Barrel Polka."

And at still another wedding, we all learned that it was possible for somebody to grow up Catholic in St. Louis and still be allergic to mostaccioli.

She must have gotten some kind of dispensation. Whatever happened, the bridesmaid couldn't eat wheat or tomatoes.

Kind of puts a damper on your career as semi-professional bridal attendant. Mostaccioli goes with weddings just like shoes and rice.

But there's that saying about always the bridesmaid....

A lot of people got married on Valentine's Day. It's a natural. I hope they'll all be celebrating Feb. 14 together for a long time to come.

Forever and ever, amen.

Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer at the Southeast Missourian.