The standard wedding rituals are kinda cool. I’m kinda partial to the ole Fling the Garter shtick to a crowd of single dudes who swarm all over a little bit of lace and elastic like seagulls on a box of french fries.
Although I wonder what kind of message it sends that I enjoy pawing my wife’s leg in order to get a piece of her underwear just so I could toss it to a pack of liquored-up hyenas?
|"Hmm..hope I get the frick outta|
here before 'Matlock' comes on."
Truth be told, though, this is much more organized than anything the men do (a lesson which applies throughout most of life). The bride actually uses a stand-in bouquet while she keeps the real one as a keepsake.
One of the oddest customs is for the bride and groom to save the top layer of their cake. Once home, this piece of sugary goodness will be placed in the freezer, to be consumed on the night of the first anniversary.
Like all good newlyweds, we kept ours. Although, to be honest, the following year, when we pulled out this mummified glob of brightly-colored frosting and insulation-like cake, we ditched it. And instantly headed to Dairy Queen for a couple of blizzards.
Thankfully, the festivities finally drew to a close and we prepared to make good our escape. We said goodbye to close friends, assured out-of-town relatives we’d be sure to visit, and promised to pay the Ring Bearer's medical bills (who came real close to snagging that garter).
Despite our best efforts for a speedy, incognito departure, the remaining guests gathered at the front door to bid us farewell. We were actually touched that they thought enough of us to do so. That is, until we learned that the bar had closed and they were heading out to the oceanfront.
|"Before we go...has everyone peed?"|
Finally alone, we held each other’s hands as we began our lives together. Sure, the day was hectic, fraught with frayed nerves and nagging unease over whether we made the right decision.
Gazing into each other’s eyes, we knew we were meant to be together. All the aggravations and petty annoyances were just that-petty.
Bathed in the serene glow that comes only with true contentment, I eased our vehicle onto the interstate to whisk us away to a honeymoon lodge, whose location was known to no one save us (NOTE: Of course, you know it as the “Land of Love” in the Poconos. There were no dildos in the 1986 gift shop, though. But, they did have Tampax. Which we didn’t need. Hubba, hubba).
“We’ll be there soon.” I cooed to my wife (wife!) as I coasted to a stop next to the toll booth.
I removed my hand from hers for a brief second so that I could reach into my trouser pocket to fish out toll money.
Reluctantly dropping my eyes from her beautiful face, I looked in my wallet. Hmm, that’s odd. I thought I had two one hundred dollar bills in there last night....
Why do I only have two bucks in there now?
That damn Denny’s!
We now return 2011. Please return your seats to the upright position, stow your tray tables, and button up your pants, for pity’s sake!
Whew! That was a long one, wasn’t it (that’s what she said)?
You’ll have to excuse me now. It probably would be prudent to throw away any Super Glue in the house. I don't want to take any chances once I fall asleep.
Mrs. Penwasser just walked into the room.