Wedding party




Today we join together in the bonds of holy matrimony this tuxedo and this cocktail shrimp. You may now dunk the bride. The best man and the maid of honor made a perfect complement to the bride and groom, best man resplendent in bowtie, cummerbund and purple hightops, the maid of honor a perfect fright in botox and Spanx. Their reception was protracted and unannounced either in the society pages or to their respective Facebook friends. The intoxicating combination of tin cans, canapés, lust and fear of commitment caused an alliance that haunted them for years after, waiting and hoping that no pictures would emerge through their various social networks.

And none did, for year after breathless year. The maid of honor finally let her hair down, stopped being afraid that she’d be recognized in photos with her hairpins in the upswept style that was required of maids and matrons alike in that unfortunate wedding party.  The best man apologized vaguely and without specifics to almost everyone at the wedding – the mother and father, the bartender, the in-laws and out-laws, the guy who made the cakes, the band, the singer who usually focuses on bar mitzvahs but  just this once for you old pal and who knows how much he regretted that.

Standing on that lawn after the ceremony, the bride and groom, the family, the friends, all engaged in the grip-n-grin, the grim rituals of commitment and nothing wrong with that, after all. When it all fell apart – the cake, the marriage, the open-shut case of open legs at a ceremony of fidelity and forsaking all others, etc etc – there wasn’t much left but the discarded invitations.

There were calligraphic promises and protestations of eternal love, with sparkling stars and little moons in the envelope and a promise of an open bar at the reception but not at the ceremony itself. The minister practiced the vows with the couple, declined the bachelor party but had his own bash with the ring-bearer’s father, which did eventually become an issue with the ring-bearer’s mother, but not as big an issue as either of them had thought it might be when and if it ever became a problem. But it didn’t.

At the end of the day, the wedding went well, the marriage as well as statistics would suggest, and the debauchery of the day did not turn the earth on its axis, although it did cause the moon to look back over her shoulder and wink, saucy little moon, who knows so much about love, marriage, and the multitudinous adventures within and without. With this and thee and I now pronounce and you may now ruled the day but not the weekend and certainly not the happily ever after.

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