Hating Your Kids

Every second Thursday of every month, for the last four years, I've meet Jill for lunch at Christie's. No confirmations needed, we just show up. Being farther away from the resturaunt, I'm usually late. Stalled by the semis in the industrial area, stuck at work designing garage sale signs for my boss, or getting a seventy-five dollar speeding ticket have been among my excuses. Today I was early. Which really means I was on time. Most importantly, I arrived before her.

Our friendship started over twenty years ago. I used to steal cassette tapes from her at Musicland. Somehow she didn't know, or didn't care. Once, I special ordered a Damned CD from her and was given guff for not buying it at a real record store. I'm surprised I didn't steal that when it arrived. Not sure how we went from casual mall encounters to late night coffee binges, but you'd often find us at Baker's Square, at midnight, spewing dramatic, useless teenage philosophy. When I say I'm not sure how, what I really mean is I can't remember. It's has been over twenty years.

Jill and I have never kissed. Which is strange because I kissed most of the girls I befriended during my teen years. It's probably one of the reasons we are still friends. Being one of my oldest friends, I'm excited for her to attend my wedding. She might not come now since her four year old isn't invited.

The Millennium Hotel is a remodeled Holiday Inn. It's been redone in a Frank Lloyd Wright fashion, with a bit more trendy club feel. As if FLW's cocaine abusing step son might have designed it. Originally we were looking at a large basement room to accommodate our guest list, but then we saw the fourteenth floor. It's the very top floor consisting of one long room on each the west and east side of the building. The all window wall of the west room provides a stunning northward view of downtown Minneapolis only one upped by the Dome room (connecting the east and west rooms) which provides a 360 degree bubble view of the city. One problem, the reception area accommodates only one-hundred and sixty guests.

We've reduced the guest list from two-twenty to one-eighty in an attempt to accommodate the capacity restrictions. To do this we've had to draw a line; Some single invites will be sent out, cousins have been cut, and invites restricting the attendance of kids.

Telling Jill her son can't attend wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't already told her the opposite and I have one more friend who is under the same impression. Not only am I not looking forward to that conversation, restrictions such as these are counter to my easy going overall attitude. I feel like a jerk. Will you still love me in the morning?