A fine occasion, it was. The barn had been rented and decorated in burlap and ribbons. The bride and groom were long-time roommates, friends, and lovers. The time had come to make it official.
I booked a room at the same hotel as the wedding party, only to find out that the wedding party had moved to another hotel. It seems that upon arriving at the original hotel, one of the wedding party members discovered a condom in their room. A complaint to the hotel manager didn’t bring the appropriate response, so they cancelled all the rooms and moved down the road.
Some people might think finding a condom in their hotel room was a perk, kind of like chocolates on your pillow. Not this group.
Wedding day: the girls all get their hair and nails ‘did’; the boys grabbed their pistols and went to the firing range. Guests from out of town gathered at the Waffle House for something scattered, covered and smothered. “An acceptable level of ecstasy”, Lyle Lovett would say in a song.
Guests arrived at the barn, parking in a field down the road. The preacher arrived and within 5 minutes fell and broke his hip. I’m not making this up, but feel free to steal it if you need a story line for your comic book. Nothing like an ambulance waling into your wedding to kick-start your dream night.
I offered to perform the marriage, figuring the whole ceremony has a script and being that I can read. By that time, however, the preacher’s son had been designated as the replacement. It all goes off without a hitch under the pecan tree out back.
Afterwards, there’s bocce ball, horseshoes, cornhole and croquet on the lawn. The bar is open and dinner is a huge buffet. A big box of cigars awaits those who head to the fire pit.
This was a lavish affair.
And there was dancing. The DJ spun the bride’s favorite tunes. Anyone ever notice who storms the dance floor when “Fat Bottom Girls” is played? It’s like the national anthem for those that qualify for the title of the song.
Nothing quite like a southern wedding.
The bride is my niece, and I had a moment with her before she and her new husband departed through a sea of sparklers that lead to their limo. She confided that the preacher’s son was not a ‘real’ preacher. He had no legal authority to marry anyone, and as the night ends, her big fat wedding was not a wedding at all.
She laughed heartily, and I felt better because of it. Like I said, it went off without a hitch.