As weddings go, mine went the way everyone else’s went, I suppose. Got engaged, picked out a tux, got married, went on a honeymoon, came home, started farting in bed...pretty typical stuff.
The night before our wedding saw the expected invasion of loved ones, friends, relatives (not necessarily “loved ones”), acquaintances, and people who we hadn’t seen in years (yet had the good sense to bring gifts).
This beautiful coming-together of people carries on a timeless tradition from countless millennia. Each a unique being, they unite in one common cause: to honor us by their presence and joyfully celebrate the expression of our love.
Plus, they heard there was an open bar.
|NOTE: We weren't (still aren't) Oriental|
Those of us lucky enough to be in the “Wedding Party” (a misnomer: ain’t no party I ever seen) got together at the church to go over our lines and hand gestures (without the benefit of hangovers). This ancient tradition harkens back to a time when bridal parties of old gathered together in their bearskins and blue jeans with the promise of chicken wings, beer, and cole slaw.
Thankfully, our rehearsal didn’t last very long. Our minister, an out-of-work podiatrist who stayed at a Holiday Inn, somehow managed to rope us together into some semblance of order. It was pretty much a whirlwind “You three stand here, you three stand there, Maid of Honor go here, Best Man go there, Father of the Bride look solemn, Bride and Groom in front of me, I talk a little, you say your vows, I pronounce you man and wife, bada bing, bada boom. Questions? Let’s eat.”
Not exactly the State of the Union, but I was fine with that. Besides, I knew we’d be winging it the next afternoon, anyway. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? They wouldn’t let us get married? It’s not like I’d forget what to say when asked, “Do you take this woman yadda, yadda, yadda....?”
The sophisticated part of our evening completed, we adjourned to my fiancée’s house (which, frighteningly, was to be known as my father-in-law’s house in just 24 hours) for the rehearsal dinner.
Here we met with all those relatives who weren’t selected for speaking roles in the wedding party. However, their out-of-town status granted them the honor of a heapin’ helpin’ of our hospitality.
Gorging ourselves on all varieties of goodies and washing it down with prodigious amounts of beer, we began planning the evening out. Like kids choosing up sides in a playground kickball match, we formed into separate groups for the coming bacchanal.
Never once did any of us think to get a good night’s sleep in preparation for what was sure to be an ordeal. Oh, no, we thought, nothing guaranteed a headache-free extravaganza come the dawn quite like late-night partying!
Our hungers sated and our itineraries mapped out, we completed one last piece of unfinished business. After a highly charged “Rock, Scissors, Paper” competition to determine who would be designated driver (“Shoulda thrown rock! Shoulda thrown rock!”) we set off in different directions.
To be continued...
Next: Denny's (I'm not kidding this time), hangover remedies, and Chunky Soup
Lest we forget...