I was wondering what exactly one wore to a space wedding. I'm fairly sure there's no Emily Post book to consult on that one. And where could they possibly be registered, and what do you get people that live on a spaceship? Gravity is, of course, a factor. I should ask Hank.
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That is, if you want me to accompany you. If you want my involvement in this at all, actually.
I. . .ahh. . .I'm not sure we're INVITED to the wedding? That's why I hadn't mentioned it before. Not that we're NOT invited, it's just more a 'hypothetical we'll probably do this at some point' than "Cyclops plus one," you know? Dad has never been really great about planning things and/or giving notice.
I'm glad you're so enthusiastic, though. Unless that's, like, sarcastic enthusiasm. I'm never sure.
Scott, don't be silly. Of course you're invited to the wedding. Why on earth would your father get married and not invite you?
Well, do let me know if we are expected. I shall have to find something to pack that will survive space flight and not require an iron. (Do wrinkles fall out in no gravity?)
Why on earth would your father get married and not invite you?
Well, the phrase "drunken impulse" comes to mind. I'm not sure what the Starjammers' equivalent of Vegas is, but Chris Summers would probably find it. And to be fair, I didn't really give him enough notice of my, ahh, second wedding that he was able to show up. And, you know, they've been together forever. I doubt it would be anything fancy.
"37. Once, at a bar... in Atlantic City, I won the cost of a hotel room and a sandwich, playing pool, from a guy who I later realized had to have been in the Mafia. Also, I'm pretty sure he knew I was hustling him, but -- I don't know, he probably thought I looked hungry. Which I was. I can't believe I just told that story, but I'm not erasing it."
I knew I shouldn't have told this story. This is not at all going to help my case with the people who think I was a hustler, in more than the pool sense of the word.
Ok, that narrows it down . . . not at all. It's not fair, you know? You met me when I was thirteen, you saw all my hideously embarrassing moments and poor choices.
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I was wondering what exactly one wore to a space wedding. I'm fairly sure there's no Emily Post book to consult on that one. And where could they possibly be registered, and what do you get people that live on a spaceship? Gravity is, of course, a factor. I should ask Hank.
...
That is, if you want me to accompany you. If you want my involvement in this at all, actually.
And I think your hair is cute, for the record.
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I'm glad you're so enthusiastic, though. Unless that's, like, sarcastic enthusiasm. I'm never sure.
All hair colors look alike to me.
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Well, do let me know if we are expected. I shall have to find something to pack that will survive space flight and not require an iron. (Do wrinkles fall out in no gravity?)
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Well, the phrase "drunken impulse" comes to mind. I'm not sure what the Starjammers' equivalent of Vegas is, but Chris Summers would probably find it. And to be fair, I didn't really give him enough notice of my, ahh, second wedding that he was able to show up. And, you know, they've been together forever. I doubt it would be anything fancy.
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And when was this? Exactly?
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I knew I shouldn't have told this story. This is not at all going to help my case with the people who think I was a hustler, in more than the pool sense of the word.
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Ok, that narrows it down . . . not at all. It's not fair, you know? You met me when I was thirteen, you saw all my hideously embarrassing moments and poor choices.
C'mon, tell!
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*is very close to being annoyed*
Does this seem like it's going to be a funny story?
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