Wedding Toasted

While in grad school, a friend of mine, S., invited me to a wedding. I love weddings. But primarily of people I know so I proffered up many excuses why I couldn’t go. He promised it would be fun. And he didn’t want to go alone. Need I be the one to remind him that when you are in the wedding party you barely get to talk to anyone because you are busy. But he was a good friend so I agreed to go. Then he told me who the groom was. A friend of his from childhood I had met once during a basketball game. This man was crazy. And not Dukes of Hazzard crazy either. More like Deliverance crazy. Too late to say no, I asked myself how bad could it be.

Here is a tip: Never, ever ask yourself this question if unprepared for the answer.

At the wedding, the wedding party looked wonderful. I was a bit surprised that the entire ceremony lasted 8 minutes. And that included flower girls walking down the aisle. 

At the reception, I am invited to sit at one of the head tables since my friend is in the wedding party. No thank you. I mean, of course. At the large round ten top, I am directly across from the groom. He seems dipped in gin. He tells a highly off color joke. I had also seen him slap his wife right on the arse earlier. I begin referring to him as not as The Groom and instead as The Doom. 

S. goes to the bar and out of the blue, The Doom he asks me why I won’t date S. I am certain he can not be directing that towards me but sure enough. I reply that we are just friends. He, with a pretty heavy scowl, continues to probe. He says S. is like a brother to him. He only wants S. to be happy. I think to myself, do you? Start with shutting the ____ up. That will make S. happy, or since S. is not here, it will make me very, very happy. I seek out S. but, curses, S. is still at the bar.

The Doom is like a backwoods version of Johnny Cochran peppering me with questions.         S. and I have been friends for years and don’t date and don’t want to date. But I don’t share my responses with The Doom or the entire table. Instead, I save my responses in my inner monologue. S. finally returns and listens to The Doom for one minute before redirecting the conversation. 

For about 20 reasons, I want to leave and The Doom is just one of them. We have a few cocktails and soon it is time for toasts. The best man rises to give his toast of run for your life lady to the bride of good luck and future blessings to the happy couple. Since I am also sitting in front, I can see all of the family members including elderly grandparents and aunts and uncles. As the best man takes the microphone, The Doom hops up and grabs it out of his hand. I believe The Doom should not be near fire as his amount of consumption has made him both toxic and flammable.

Into the microphone he says this in a slurry, spitty fashion: Its my weddin’ day and I am going to get DRUNK and I am going to get LAID. 

He is on a MICROPHONE in front a very captive audience.  

What did I wish for? A video to capture this priceless moment and the bride’s face? No. I wished for paramedics to keep the bride’s grandmother from having a heart attack on the spot.

S. turned to me and said, “You can leave anytime you want.”
Except I couldn’t hear him over the firing up of my ignition and gravel spinning under my tires. 

I have yet to attend such a "colorful" wedding as this. I am so lucky.