Secrets At The Altar

Mr. Williams' choice of cravat this evening is a stripe of Carolina blue against a navy field.  He stood at the altar and sweated.  He could feel the perspiration rolling down his back and his underwear sticking to every surface it touched, damp and strangling.  Last night's send-off had been a huge mistake, and now, standing here in a tuxedo-clad row with the rest of the wedding party, sun beating down on them all from a relentlessly blue and cloudless sky with no hope of shade or breeze or any respite at all, he was paying dearly for it.  The sweat broke out on his hairline in small beads that began to trickle down his face.  His wife, looking like a Disney princess among other Disney princesses in blue taffeta, glanced at him worriedly.  His stomach was roiling and he knew his face was grey or green or, at best, white.  He tried a wan smile and hoped the wedding wasn't going to last much longer.