[Congressional Record Volume 162, Number 74 (Wednesday, May 11, 2016)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E671-E672]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




          GOING TO THE CHAPEL DIFFERENT THIS TIME BY INA HUGHS

                                 ______
                                 

                        HON. JOHN J. DUNCAN, JR.

                              of tennessee

                    in the house of representatives

                        Wednesday, May 11, 2016

  Mr. DUNCAN of Tennessee. Mr. Speaker, Ina Hughs, a longtime columnist 
for the Knoxville News-Sentinel, has written a very honest and 
entertaining column about her upcoming marriage at the age of 75.
  First, I want to congratulate her and her husband-to-be. Second, I 
want to call this enjoyable column to the attention of my colleagues 
and other readers.
  Third, I will recall a story I heard in the News Sentinel many years 
ago when Senator Strom Thurmond was running for re-election one month 
short of his 94th birthday.
  Someone--either the Senator or somebody on his staff--had found a 
105-year-old-woman who had been a babysitter for Senator Thurmond when 
she was 16 and he was five.
  This 105-year-old endorsed the almost 94-year-old and called him a 
``fine young man.'' I hope Ms. Hughs and her ``intended'' will be a 
fine young couple.


                Going to the chapel different this time

       Well. I have a bit of news. Not breaking news worthy of 
     interrupting regularly scheduled programs. But rather 
     shocking nevertheless. Close friends with whom I first shared 
     this--well, their reaction over the phone was a long silence, 
     howling laughter, and then they dropped the receiver.
       I am getting married.
       In three days.
       I met him and his late wife in the early 1960s, when he and 
     my husband served churches in the Norfolk area. As couples we 
     became friends. Over time our families exchanged Christmas 
     cards, but then a few years ago he and I landed in the same 
     area in retirement. His wife sadly died of invasive cancer, 
     and I had been single for some 20 years.
       Shortly after the news got around town, I called a friend 
     to wish her a happy birthday. When she read on the caller ID 
     who I was, she answered by saying, ``Oh, goody! You're 
     calling to ask me to be a bridesmaid?''
       After my daughter digested the news--in great joy--she 
     asked what was I going to wear. Did I want her to go with me 
     to David's Bridal?
       ``Honey,'' I said, laughing, ``I don't even own a dress. 
     How do you expect me to wear a gown?'' She made me promise 
     I'd find a friend with better taste in clothes than me to 
     help find my outfit so I wouldn't embarrass the family.
       I am not doing any of that young bride stuff except maybe 
     the old-new-borrowed-

[[Page E672]]

     blue. The something old, of course, will be me. At 75, what 
     else could you call it? The Zombie Bride?
       The borrowed item will be white pants I inherited from my 
     older sister, who will no doubt be peering over a cloud from 
     heaven saying, ``Don't you have any clothes of your own? What 
     on earth did you wear before I died and you got all mine?''
       Something blue? That would be a necklace my younger sister 
     gave me for my 21st birthday back in the previous millennium: 
     a strand of white and blue pearls to match a blue jacket that 
     is new, closing out my four-part matrimonial couture.
       I do worry a bit that I'll look like a sea captain: white 
     top, white pants, blue jacket. But it doesn't have brass 
     buttons and I won't have on the cap. Or, Lord forbid, a veil.
       And we aren't throwing rice or birdseed or rose petals. If 
     there's any throwing to do, it'll be me sick with nerves. 
     Blushing, teary-eyed and bashful is charming in youth. It 
     just makes old women look wrinkled, frog-eyed and acutely 
     geriatric.
       Although I am 100 percent sure I won't be left at the 
     altar, I find it humbling and altogether amazing that my 
     intended (Where, pray tell, did that word come from? Does 
     that mean every relationship that doesn't end in marriage is 
     unintended? I think not.) is willing to cast lots with me at 
     our ripe old age.
       Me of the elastic-waist pants. Me of age-spotted hands. Me 
     of trifocals and bunions. I sleep in socks. On the rare 
     occasions I do wear a bathing suit, it's always under a 
     cover-up. I often fall asleep in the recliner and drool. I 
     sometimes break wind when getting out of the back seat of a 
     car, and if you find that funny you are either under 50 or 
     your grandmother is dead.
       We are like the old couple that came into the drugstore 
     holding hands. ``Do you sell wheelchairs and canes?'' they 
     asked.
       The pharmacist answered, ``Yes. We have a whole back room 
     full of the latest models.''
       ``Do you sell magnifying glasses?''
       ``Yes. Right over there.''
       ``Heating pads? Walk-in bathtubs? Medical alert systems? 
     Adjustable bed rails? Blood pressure kits? TV sound 
     amplifiers?''
       ``Yes. Yes. Yes.''
       ``We'd like to use you as our bridal registry.''
       So, my friends, never say never. One day you, too, might 
     have your friends dropping the phone.

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