Betty has done many things since her last hurried post in the early hours of her wedding day: she has married the boy person friend, for one, but there has also been an array of other exciting things…
A lovely honeymoon in Queenstown, which may very well be the most beautiful place on earth:
She turned twenty-eight years old…
She celebrated Christmas in a cosy way with the husband person, and again in a largeish way with most of her family, at the zoo:
And, in one of the most exciting developments of recent times, she has taken three weeks off work, one of which is still to come, and she will assuredly spend some of it profitably, and catch up (more or less) on her blogging. To every thing there is a season.
In about eight hours, this blog may redirect from bettyscandretti to, perhaps, bartykumarti. Or, of course, it may not.
Life! It has such possibilities!
Betty has a frightful cold in her throat, and so she is sitting up in bed drafting out her wedding service. The one that the minister gave to Betty and the boy person fiance needed a small amount of tweaking, not least because the couple whose service the minister used as a reference said their vows in Dutch after giving them in English, which would seem a little odd in this case, given that the boy person fiance (pleasing though he is) is not a Dutchman. Betty, therefore, has been googling the Book of Common Prayer with abandon (a more difficult task than one would think — the top hits always belong to a Jane Austen fan site, which, while it seems to have the wording pat, does not sit well with Betty’s instincts about reputable referencing).
So Betty took a short break to investigate one of the obligatory YouTube links: the wedding of Frederik and Mary of Denmark. Betty had forgotten how lovely the Danish language is — apart from reminding her of Garrison Keillor (always a heartwarming thing), it simply has a beautiful sound. What Betty did not know is the way this language simplifies even the stateliest of wedding ceremonies to its absolute essence:
[in Danish] Do you, Frederik André Henrik Christian, burble burble burble?
And not an overwrought, royal “Jah”, but the clipped “Jah” of an amenable small boy; sort of a Danish “Yup”. Quite beautiful.
Betty has been remiss, tardy, absent, lazy; a slacker, a vacant space, a write-off, indeed, practically, blogwise, the mistress of her own demise. It isn’t that she’s been sitting about painting her toe-nails (a family term for absolute slothful indulgence, though, Betty hastens to point out, she does indeed keep her toe-nails polished most of the time: people do it around here, it lasts for weeks, and anyway, it’s a free country). No, Betty has been far from idle: in addition to working like a crazy woman seven days a week, she has also killed a friend’s car, which she does not recommend. It was no good anyway and it died, barely a fortnight before its owner was to return from overseas, which Betty felt was a bit rich. She has made romantic train journeys to the home of her youth, which is lovely fun; she has lectured for half a semester and worn stockings every Thursday.
She has also become gloriously engaged to the boy person friend. In a scene too tender for the interwebs, but which Betty will say was most romantically devised, the boy person friend, his knee, and a sapphire ring colluded to steal Betty’s heart, and her wobbly eyes, the late evening light, and the expansive park all welled up joyfully and said yes.
And in all the excitement she has not blogged at all, but she plans to make amends.