Of Pirate Weddings and Stormy Kisses

Clearly my estrogen is running at an all-time high today.

After a decidedly girly afternoon, I met another girlfriend for happy hour at Bistro 27. As much of a regular as I am at the place, I had not availed myself of their new happy hour deals on food and wine. Inquiring neighbors need to know so we got the party started as the first barsitters of the evening.

Five dollars was the magic number and there must have been a half dozen glasses of wine at that price. Small plates carried the same price and we scarfed down lamb ragu over vermicelli, mussels in marinara and bacon-wrapped scallops over lentils.

An unlikely-looking guy came in and ordered the mussels to go without even looking at the menu, obviously aware of the great deal that they were. Let's just say he had exact change.

I got to hear all about my girlfriend's impending "pirate" wedding, a term the VMFA uses for all the unscheduled nuptials that take place in their sculpture garden. Apparently the porch of the former Home for Confederate Women is a particularly popular spot for tying the knot, not that there's any chance I'll do that again.

She also told me about the dress she's having made for the ceremony. "I want to look like Ann Sothern," she said, evoking a certain 50s style. Could I tell you an Ann Sothern role? I could not, but I got the visual.

The dress is being made from an original '50s Vogue pattern (listen to me, don't I sound like Suzy Homemaker with all this sewing talk today? Unchecked estrogen, I tell you) with an upturned collar, a cinched waist and a flaring skirt, all in gray taffeta.

Whenever I hear taffeta, I think of that line in "Young Frankenstein" when Gene Wilder leans in for a kiss and she pulls back, telling him, "Taffeta, darling," concerned about how easily it wrinkles. Not that Frankenstein has anything to do with my friend getting married.

But I digress.

And as if talk of marriage wasn't feminine enough, I followed that with seeing "Jane Eyre" at the Westhampton. When the concession girl asked if I wanted butter on my popcorn and I said yes, she had a follow-up question. "Layered?" Now serving layered butter; who knew?

As historical dramas go, it wasn't the most beautiful one I ever saw, although it was very moody and atmospheric, perfect for a smoldering love story. The sky threatening a storm as they had their first kiss was everything a romantic could hope for in such a scene.

And all the essential elements were in place. Jane was plain, Rochester was manly and passionate and the dialogue made it all worthwhile.

"You transfix me quite, Jane Eyre. What am I to do, then? You're a rare, unearthly thing, I must have you for my own."

Before I die, I want to transfix; that's all I'm saying.