As soon as the sun goes, the wedding would begin. The cool breeze lifted up the front of my dress. It is the beginning of hurricane season. I always wanted a beach wedding. I was dressed to the hilt with my nine inch heels on the boardwalk near the beach. I quickly pulled my dress back to proper positioning but the wind begins to be more than a cool breeze. Babcia had never been to a beach wedding before. She weighed eighty-nine pounds and the cool breeze was enough to knock her off her feet. Of course Babcia did not go down alone, as always we were partners in crime. Knocked right to the ground, we laid beside each other. Babcia yells out, "wow, this is quite a party. I am falling down drunk and I haven't even had a beer yet." Everyone laughed, but Babcia was serious.
She got up off her dupa and went to the edge of the beach to wade in the water. Her Alzheimer's was hard a work making her forget that she had a half a case of Polish beer on the ride to the park. Her drunken waddle to the water was like an exquisite dance. She was wading in about an inch of water when the hurricane strength wind knocked her over. She was soaked. She was drunk. Her soaking red dress clung to her like a cellophane candy wrapper. She was know also very pissed. Not because her dressed was soaked but she was pissed that her adult undergarment AKA "Adult Diaper" had soaked up a good portion of salty seawater. She managed to get up with the help of my eldest brother but was having difficulties waddling out of the water. My other brother, who is also older than me, went to help them get out of the wavy seawater. Al was visiting her big time. Alzheimer's, that is. She forgot who these two men that were helping her were. She thought they were so nice that if they ever wanted a grandmother, she would adopt these two fine young men as her own.
Of course, I picked white tuxedo coats with tails for the groom and all the groomsmen. Babcia noticed the white coats. She started to yell at the top of her lungs in Polish, "Don't let the white coats take me. I'm not crazy. I'm just a little intoxicated."
She bopped my eldest brother in the eye. His eye swelled shut very quickly. She was now insanely mad as the white coats were attempting to get her to dry land. The hurricane strength winds picked up again. They all three went down into the salty sea. They attempted several times to get up. They finally got up and it was then that Babcia noticed my eldest brother had a bulge in his pants too. No! He was not happy to see anyone. He just happened to also have urinary incontinence problems like Babcia. He was in his mid-forties, wearing an adult diaper and he was pissed that Babcia pointed this fact out. It was up to my other brother to get the two of them with their loaded diapers out of the water. Some people started to snicker at them. But my brother was loaded not just in his pants. He was carrying a nice colt 45. Everyone knew he was an excellent shot. Of course, Babcia, she had taught him well on the skills of shooting to kill.
He pulled it out. No, not that you pervs! He pulled out his Colt 45. He aimed it at the first person to snicker. My husband to be had never had a gun pointed at his head before. He started to sweat a nervous sweat. Apparently, getting married did not warrant such a nervous sweat, it was the act of a gun to bring him to a high level of dysfunctional nervousness. Babcia had forgotten about the white coats hauling her off. There was going to be a shoot out. She could hardly contain her excitement.
A real western shoot out, she thought. Babcia was so excited she wet herself which of course nobody noticed due to the whole "soaked adult diaper from the ocean extravaganza." She started rambling in Polish. "Back in my day, the man with the biggest gun won. Back in my day they didn't have these strange adult undergarments. You just pissed your pants in fear and the piss ran down your leg. Then you keeled over from a heart attack. Back in my day..." Babcia started to forget what she was talking about. She caught the eye of my husband to be and thought she was at her wedding. She thought she was at the Polish Catholic church of Saint Stanislaw. The wet sand of the beach engulfed her feet and then her thoughts went to the lazy nuns, who apparently, could not keep the dirt out of the church. She lifted her eyes back up and caught my husband to be's eyes again.
She asked the justice of peace why he was not wearing his priestly attire. And of course, the justice of the peace we had chosen was not a male. She was a lesbian and a butch looking lesbian at that. Babcia did not just have Alzheimer's. Oh no, she also had hearing problems.She thought the butch looking justice of the peace said that she was Lebanese.
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