Tuesday, July 5, 2011

I Do-Part Quattro

NOTE: Continued shameless self-promotion.
But, seriously, would it kill them to toss me a BON?

For the ladies. Clearly NOT me.
I don't wear tightey-whiteys
    Dashing (rather, the hang-over equivalent of) back to my room, I frantically pawed through my drawers.  Then I checked my dresser (BA DUM BUM.  Thank you, thank you very much.  I’m here till Thursday).  Thankfully, the two rings were exactly where I left them-balled up into a pair of underpants for safekeeping.
    OK, I relaxed, tux and rings all ready.  Let’s see, my vows?  Oh, that was easy!  All I had to do was repeat whatever the minister said.  Luckily, my fiancée didn’t go for all that self-written personalized vows stuff.  A traditional girl, she was content with whatever the reverend had to say.  No sense making up Disneyesque lyrics in an attempt to jazz things up.
    So, I was all set there.
    Hmm, what was I forgetting.....?
    Fifteen minutes later, I was at the mall, making a beeline for one of those stores which sell all manner of gewgaws for the sophisticated man.  You know, like monogrammed golf balls and fake dog poop.
    Seems that, in the manic hustle of the past few weeks, I’d neglected to get gifts for my best man and ushers.
    Browsing though the aisles, I agonized over which gifts would be the most sincere expression of my feelings for good friends who were to be part of one of my life’s milestones.
    And who weren’t nimble enough to come up with a quick reason why they shouldn’t get all dressed up and stand in the front of a church.    
    Rejecting the naked playing cards and beer drinking helmets as inappropriate (although cool), I elected to purchase five shot glasses with Virginia Is For Lovers scrolled across them.  (GEOGRAPHY NOTE:  I was married in Virginia Beach.  The shot glasses lied.).
    Sufficiently emotional, reasonably priced.
    For good measure, I bought one of those hip flasks (you know, the kind only seen in speakeasies and Humphrey Bogart movies) for my best man.  The drunk.
    Patting myself on the back, I returned home to get ready for the big shindig.
    I also needed to turn off that can of Chunky Soup.
 ************** 
    The wedding itself went off without a hitch for two reasons.  First, the rehearsal the night before was a huge success, if only because we knew beforehand where to stand.  And, basically, it was just a wedding, for Pete’s sake, not the launching of the space shuttle.
    To sum up:
    1.  Wedding Party struts painfully slow up center aisle.
    2.  Wedding Party takes their place, turns to look wistfully at entrance.
    3.  Triumphal Wedding March.  Bride and father proceed at a snail’s pace to front.  Everyone marvels at how beautiful bride is and how broke the father looks.
    4.  Father hands off bride to groom (this is where I come in), smiles (he looked too happy, I thought), and steps to one side.
    5.  Minister speaks:  “Do you..?” then “Do you...?” followed by “C’mon, really...?”
    6.  “I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss your bride.”
    7.  I do (no tongues, thank you very much).  We turn and walk down aisle to thunderous applause and out the door, followed by the Wedding Party.
    8.  We return for candid photography.
    9.  Head to reception.
  
I'm so glad Dad came
    Wedding receptions are great fun if you’re not the bride or groom.  Let’s face it, if you’re the ones who just got married, they’re hassles.
    For one thing, all eyes are riveted on you.  Everything you do is scrutinized for its “ooh-aah” factor and you can’t even go to the bathroom without it being loudly announced by the (usually blotto) self-proclaimed Official EMCEE.  Plus, all the disposable cameras scattered about like donuts at a police station give paparazzi wannabes license to photograph everything from the Chicken Dance to whether the groom smashes cake into his sweetie’s face (for the record, I didn’t).
NOTE: Gratuitous boob shot. You're welcome.
    And, God forbid you should pick your nose (for the record, I didn't).
    As if that wasn’t bad enough, some yahoo is always rapping his water glass to get the happy couple to kiss.  Now, this is all well and good the first hundred times.  The guests get all sappy and the newlyweds have a chance to publicly display their devotion.
    But, round about the third hour, it transforms into an annoying demand for public affection.  It becomes kind of creepy, bearing an unnerving resemblance to one of those peep show booths you find at places called Adult World (not that I’ve actually patronized one of those establishments.  It’s just what I’ve...uh...been told).
How'd you like to be in THAT honeymoon suite?? Awkward.
I think that's why the ladies look cranky.
    Joined at the hip like some matrimonial Chang and Eng, the bride and groom make the rounds to thank each guest for coming and eating their food.
    Not too onerous for people you know well.  But, it’s a little difficult to hold meaningful conversations with “you know...the children of the fourth cousin of my father’s great-uncle who fought in the war and managed to settle down with that Korean lady who does nails at the Mall.”
NOTE: NOT a Korean nail lady.
But, he DOES seem strangely fascinated by that corn cob...
    Those conversations pretty much go like, “Oh, thank you.  No, we used bird seed...it’s better for wildlife and the bums don’t eat it.  Uh, the weather?  Yeah, hotter than normal this time of year.  You bet...um....no, I didn’t think the chicken was undercooked.  Wow, all the way from up north...um...I hear the Red Sox will blow it by August.  Sheesh, you can’t even tell it’s a toupee, really!  Ooops, someone’s banging a glass, gotta run!!”
    You get the idea.


To be continued....
Next: The CONCLUSION!!!!  Oh, thank God....

16 comments:

  1. Shot glasses with Virginia Is For Lovers? Wow, that was clearly an original gift for the groomsmen. Hahaha...not surprised.

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  2. It was the best I could do on the fly. I felt like such a cliche.

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  3. please tell me that is a picture of my favorite adorable little dictator? and that he was in virginia for the wedding, because kim jong il is also for lovers.
    rediculous gifts. i love that shit.

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  4. Yep, that's him, all right. He really is a sentimental little guy who looks remarkably like a troll doll.

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  5. What is it with drinking things and groomsmen gifts. My husband has gotten a couple nice flasks and a ginormous Budweiser drinking thing. Not a glass or a mug so not sure what to call it. But, it's for beer. And that has just been in the last 15 years. He may have more I don't know about.

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  6. How broke the father looks, great stuff.

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  7. Were thos "Virginia is..." shot glasses plastic?

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  8. I'm proud of you for not doing the cake-smushing-in-the-face thing....I hate that custom!

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  9. At my wedding reception all of the fucking food and alcohol was gone before I even got there. That should have been the wake up call that the marriage wouldn't last.

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  10. @Ruth: Men are pretty simple creatures. We like naked women, sports, drinking, and blowing things up. Sometimes all at once.
    @Tony: He was bereft, bemused, and, apparently, besotted.
    @Anthony: They were glass. Perfect for throwing into a fireplace. Or at each other. After drinking. Okay, BECAUSE of drinking.
    @Eva: I did not smash the cake into her face because I don't like it, either. I read an article just recently about it. Something about dominance and sex. Sigh....it ALWAYS comes down to sex.
    @OT: Because of all the wandering around I had to do, I really didn't eat anything. Nor did I drink much. I was so jealous of the invited guests. They had all the chicken wings they could eat. Which some of them probably threw up later.

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  11. The Chicken Dance! Ha! I'd forgotten that one. But thank you - I now have the stupid song stuck in my head.

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  12. Good thing I didn't mention the "Hokey-Pokey," "Alley Cat," the "Macarena," or the "Electric Slide," huh?
    Ooops. Sorry.

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  13. The Chicken Dance. My grandmother used to do that one at weddings. Love it!

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  14. It truly is one of the classics.

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  15. You should have gone with the monogrammed fake dog poop, as gifts for your best man and ushers. At least there is no pretence that these pearls of the pavement are anything other than a shit gift…..(thank you, thank you, I’m here till Yesterday….)

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  16. Nowadays I would. I mean, would I rather have a cheesy gift that I would stick in my cupboard and never use? Or a piece of faux excrement that I can take to work and leave on the lunch counter?
    Real excrement always gets me in trouble.

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