Free Odyssey In A Teacup by Paula Houseman Page A

reception venue, yet again feeling anxious at the thought of either having to stand here alone near this corn-fed crowd, or alternatively, having to hobnob with the rellos. Where the hell was Ralph?
    He and Gwen were currently in an off-phase in their on-off relationship. Just as I wondered if he was still sad about it, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, and there he was, my knight in shining armour. Literally. Ralph (who might have felt blue) was coated in silver. He was wearing a silver lamé suit. Sweet Jesus!
    ‘You like it? I picked it up at an op shop, dirt-cheap!’
    Of course. Nobody else would bloody buy it. ‘Did you look in the mirror?’ You’re standing out like dog’s balls!
    ‘I felt I needed to make a statement.’
    Amazing how Ralph always heard what I didn’t say. Clearly, the show pony had blocked the memory of the ‘statement’ he’d made that day six years earlier in Gavin’s Y-fronts, when it wasn’t just the dog’s balls that stood out. Ralph turned away from me, pounced on an hors d’oeuvres tray carried by a passing waiter and grabbed as many canapés as he could hold. And he kept going back for more. And more. And more. Ralph ate like there was a food shortage, shovelling one appetiser after another into his mouth. A variety of good food was like a precious commodity at his place.
    It was now time to enter the dining room. Ralph and I surveyed the seating list and were relieved to see that we were at the same table. The names of the other six people at our table were unfamiliar, but it didn’t matter. Ralph’s siblings weren’t sitting anywhere near us. Louwhiney was sitting with simon and Miranda and george and Stella on the opposite side of the room. Miri knew not to seat Ralph with them. Norma would have ensured this because simon hadn’t spoken a word to Ralph for the past two years. At simon and Miranda’s wedding reception, Ralph asked him if he and his new wife would be taking turns to wear the bag in bed (they’re equally unattractive).
    Ralph and I wove our way around the tables until we found ours. We were the first ones there. It was right in front of the bridal table, and our place cards had us positioned to face it. We would be in Zelda’s direct line of sight. I wanted to move the cards so that I wouldn’t have to look at her, but it was too late. The other six guests assigned to our table joined us. My breath caught in my throat. Fuck ... They were all morbidly obese!
    It was as if Zelda had handpicked her biggest and best to sit with us. I was losing carbon dioxide again and starting to feel woozy. I turned to Ralph for support. He was of no use, though; he was having his own crisis. The colour had drained from his face. Propped against the table next to him was a pair of crutches. Their owner, who was immediately to Ralph’s left and about to seat himself, was missing a leg. Ralph had developed apotemnophobia—a fear of amputees—around the same time that his OCPD manifested. But I suspect this was connected to the incident eight years before that, when Daffy became his birthday dinner. Aside from the fact that this man next to him didn’t have a pair of legs, all Ralph could see when he looked at this fellow was onedrumstick.
    Ralph and I were a mess. I was frantically deep breathing and Ralph was in a frenzied state, elbows on table, his hands running wildly through his hair, both legs jackhammering. Just then, a flashbulb went off in our faces. It jolted us out of our insanity. The photographer smiled benevolently and gave us his card.
    ‘If you want a copy of this photo, just call us in about three weeks.’
    ‘No, I don’t want a copy ... I want the negatives!’ Ralph had returned from Hades with a vengeance.
    Luckily for the photographer, the music started up. He purposively snuck away and started snapping the bridal party. They had entered the ballroom and were making their way onto the dance floor. Most of the guests joined in the Hora,