Miss Jessica Bronstein and Guest.
“Which do you think one is worse,” I asked Dinah, “the ‘Miss’ part or that I don’t have a designated guest with a name?” Dinah half opened her eyes and then went back to sleep. I turned over the envelope to look at the embossed return address. “Oh, no. Please let this turn into a bar mitzvah invitation...”
Somewhere in the childish make-believe part of my mind, I clung to the hope that if I stared at the letter long enough it would magically transform into that bar mitzvah invitation after all. Those could be entertaining events if you kept score for things like how often the kid’s voice cracks, the price spent on that perfect Mother of the Bar Mitzvah boy dress, and how many underage guests got caught sneaking alcohol from the open bar. However, even the most overbearing mother would have been in big trouble with her son if she sent invitations in purple envelopes with lace trim.
I opened the envelope. The contents remained what I knew they would be all along.
How beautiful is the day that is touched by love.
Mr. and Mrs. William Schwartz request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter Rachel Deborah to Kevin …
“Rats!” I groaned loudly enough that Dinah’s ears perked up and she raced over to the chair where I was slumped. She may have been trying to distract me, offer consolation, or just get attention while I was seated was up in the air, but she managed all three as her face shoved under the card and she stared up at me with big green eyes. What a shame about Rachel’s allergy to Dinah, or I could bring her as my guest and be left alone as The Crazy Cat Lady.
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