Bwahahahah, Sayeth The Mother

The scene of the crime. 

There's a wedding being planned over here, people.

Yesssss.

My son and his fiance have set a date for their wedding, which will take place next summer. We're so excited and happy for them! This will be one GREAT party.

As mother of the groom, my responsibilities are a little different than if I were mother of the bride. My friend Cheryl told me that she was advised at her son's wedding to "wear beige, sit down, and just shut up".

My. Goodness.

If y'all only knew Cheryl, you'd understand what how, um, unlikely it was that this advice would be followed. And, girlfriend - I mean that in the best possible way, honey....

It's also equally unlikely that I will be able to do any of those things, either. Beige? Yuk. Sit down? (well, maybe in-between the ceremony and the reception..) and just shut up?? Umm hmm. Riiiiiiiiight. Like THAT'S going to happen.

What? You're surprised that I wouldn't behave like the perfectly genteel woman that I am?

Riiiiiiiiight.

So while the bride and groom and the bride's family get all involved in the finer details of the wedding, I have a whole year to complete my responsibilities. Which would be planning the rehearsal dinner. And picking out a suitable dress. Meh.

But by far, the most important agenda I have for the next year is to finally plan my revenge. On my delightful son, whom I love with all my heart and soul. But who asked for this revenge almost exactly twenty two years ago - the day on which he pulled the stunt that made me shake my fist at the skies and proclaim, "Vengeance shall be MINE, sayeth the Mother!!"

Yes. I am referring to the First Communion Incident.

Anyone who has known our family for more than a week has heard the story, so if you've heard it before, just deal with it, OK? Go play Bejeweled over on Facebook or something.

So. On a beautiful June day twenty two years ago, my son had finished his First Communion classes along with about fifty other angelic first grade children. We were gathered in the enormous sanctuary of our church to rehearse for the big day. The children and their parents were seated in neat and tidy rows listening to our instructions for the ceremony. John and I and our sweet, innocent little blonde boy were instructed to be seated in the front row, so we did. We turned to the center aisle to listen carefully to our priest's directions, when suddenly....

Pfffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbwwwwwaaaaappppp!!!!!!!! (Imagine a never-ending echo here that bounces off lots and lots of marble.)

My son had let rip the biggest, baddest fart that I have ever heard. In the middle of church. In front of a very large group of our fellow parishioners and our parish priest.

I had my face buried in my hands and couldn't decide whether to laugh along with everyone else in the church or to strangle the kid, and then grab the priest to confess the murder.

Think the story's over? Not by a long shot. Here's where my son really sealed his fate for a payback of enormous proportions: This sweet little boy turned to me and said at the top of his lungs and in a very shocked tone, "MOM!!!"

Oh, man. The laughter swelled even louder, but by this time I had no desire to cackle along with them. And traitor John was leaning over his knees and snorting helplessly as he tried to muffle his guffaws.

I stared straight ahead as my mind raced. What to do? I wanted to stand up, grab evil Sonnyboy by the ear, and make him confess his flatulence.

Instead, I slid as low as I could in the pew and sat on my hands to avoid beating my son AND my husband in public. I glared at my boys, who by now had both completely dissolved into hysterical laughter.

Har, har, har, guys. VEEEEERRRRYYYY funny.

Lucky for me, Father Wavra was deaf in one ear. And even luckier, his deaf ear was pointed toward my rotten son and his even rottener dad. Fr. just continued his instructions and within minutes, we were filing out of the church.

I grabbed my son by the arm and made him wait until mostly everyone was gone so that I didn't have to spend time defending my innocence in this stinky crime. John and my son both had gotten themselves under control by this point and looked at me with hangdog expressions.

"Whhh....what....what are you going to do, Mom?" son asked fearfully.

I told him to kneel down IMMEDIATELY and pray for forgiveness. Lying about your mother farting in a public place should be a MAJOR sin, I figured. And as we finally left the church and the steam quit rolling out of my ears, I suddenly knew.

It would be perfect.

He would be in absolute fear for years and years and years and years.

Yes: I would do something absolutely incredibly awful and embarrassing in a very very public place to my son. He won't know how. He won't know when. All he will know is that someday when he least expects it....bwahahahahaha. Maybe even at his WEDDING, I said.

When I told him this, he looked at me blankly and said, "Girls are creepy. I'm not getting married. So there."

I just smiled smugly and felt much, much better.

And now, as my son and his beautiful bride are planning their nuptials, I'm wondering if this would be a suitable venue for my revenge.

To be perfectly clear - I have absolutely no reason to embarrass my soon to be daughter-in-law. So if this is to take place, it has to be timed so that DIL will not be afflicted with this memory for the rest of her life. No, we actually like her a lot and want her to stick around for many many years. And come to think of it, hmmm......she and my son may be picking out our nursing home some day, so we need to stay on her good side.

My son, however, deserves this. And I've been waiting for so loooooonnnnggggg.....

Ideas, anyone?