Ahhh vacation. There’s nothing like the feeling.
The man and I were invited to a wedding last weekend in Dana Point, and we jumped at the chance to celebrate with the happy couple in a quaint sea-side town.
M and I drove down Friday night, and spent the evening nestled in the corner of a local Italian trattoria, gorging ourselves on mussels and pasta by candle-light while a lone saxophonist played Moon River in the background. We finally teetered out hours later, and were more than delighted to collapse into an enormous fluffy bed when we reached the hotel.
After a long luxurious morning of puttering around the suite, gulping in salty sea air from the balcony, and indulging in an extended bubble bath complete with champagne on ice (and tiaras made of foam), it was just about time to get dressed for the nuptials.
I wore a new dress (which thrillingly looks a bit like the one on my wish-list) paired with opaque tights and black velvet booties.
I had dug out my grandmother’s vintage golden satchel a few days before, which just barely fit my camera and a lipstick. Phew!
The ceremony was held on an intimate terrace overlooking the coast. The sun was setting as we arrived, and just as it cast its last golden hues and melted into the horizon, we took our seats. The bride was gorgeous, just radiating joy, and as they met beneath an arbor laden with crimson roses, the electric ache of deep passionate love was palpable.
Cocktail hour followed, and just as guests took their first sips and nibbles, the heavens opened up. Looking a bit like drowned rats, we all hastily ensured the bride and groom that it was a sign of good luck! The good-sport attitude was infectious though, and despite the rain the night was filled with laughter and the terrace was filled with dancing bodies.
Merriment carried on well into the night, and I barely remember falling fast asleep in M’s arms hours later.