Текст книги "Futures and Frosting"
Автор книги: Tara Sivec
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
12. Stinky Wiener Ticks and Twice Baked Potatoes
“Dude, she thought you called out ‘Mommy’? Oh sweet Jesus, that is the best thing I’ve ever heard! Seriously. You just made my week.” Drew laughs as he pats my back.
“It’s always a pleasure when my humiliation amuses you.”
Drew continues laughing and shaking his head as he works on the car panel in front of him. We have three minutes to do our job on the car in progress before the conveyor belt starts moving the car down the line again for the next pair of workers.
“How in the hell did you diffuse the situation? That’s what I want to know!” Jim walks up behind me to grab a clipboard off of the table and makes some notes, waiting patiently for my answer.
“Well, having her mother walk in on us helped. Claire was completely focused on her making comments about my ass rather than on the fact that I may or may not have called out something completely inappropriate during sex. Is it wrong that I’d rather she thought I did call her ‘Mommy’ instead of just admitting I really said ‘marry me’?” I ask.
“I dated a girl once who liked to call me ‘Daddy’ in the sack. It was kind of hot until I actually met her dad. He looked like Danny Devito, but shorter and with less hair. He always smelled like farts and swiss cheese and liked to bark at hot chicks when they’d walk by him in public,” Drew tells us.
“I take that back. It would have been less painful for her to think I proposed than to hear that story,” I say disgustedly.
“So what’s the plan now? So far a baseball game and post-coital hasn’t worked for ya. Got any other tricks up your sleeve?” Jim jokes.
“I was thinking about doing it over dinner maybe. Someplace really romantic. Isn’t that what you said I should do that night after we tried on tuxes?”
Jim looks at me in confusion. “I did? I don’t recall. Although I woke up at three in the morning in your bathtub with no pants on that night, so it’s possible I had some really good ideas.”
“Ooooooh! You should totally propose at our rehearsal dinner next weekend,” Jim says excitedly as he slams the clipboard down on the table.
“Really? I don’t know. It seems like kind of an intrusion on you and Liz. That's your special day.”
“Slow down there, Miss Manners. I’m not asking you to have a double-wedding with us. Just pop the question over dinner. Please, God, give me something else to think about right now other than aisle runners, boutonnières, and swatches,” Jim complains.
“Are you wearing a Swatch Watch for your wedding?” Drew asks, forming the letter “X” with his arms in front of him and pronouncing the words with flair.
“Funny. Just wait until Jenny gets her hooks in you and you have to deal with her psycho mother. Every time Mary Gates walks in the room and shows me a ribbon sample I want to say, ‘Did you see that? The fuck I give. It went that way.’ I’m about one tablecloth color away from just telling everyone to bring a side dish and a lawn chair to our backyard and have Drew get ordained on the internet to do the ceremony,” Jim complains. “Liz asked me the other day what I thought about twice baked potatoes. How the fuck should I know? Was I supposed to be thinking about twice baked potatoes all this time? Is this where I went wrong? Are grown men supposed to have an opinion about twice baked potatoes?”
Jim looks like his head is about ready to explode. He stands there with his arms outstretched like he's pleading for understanding or some sort of man hug. Since Drew and I aren’t the man-hugging type, Jim finally drops his arms and continues with his rant.
“And my parents, being the good Christian people they are, think one bottle of wine on every table is enough liquor. My mother’s exact words were, ‘If we run out, we run out. People will just have to make do with water.’”
Drew’s mouth drops open as the car we finished moves down the line and a new one follows in its wake.
“Water? At a wedding? I don’t understand,” he asks in confusion. “Did you invite Jesus? That’s the only way that will be acceptable.”
“Please, for the love of God, propose to Claire at the rehearsal dinner so my future mother-in-law will squeal in someone else’s ear for one night. I beg of you,” Jim pleads.
I think about Jim’s suggestion while I get to work on the next vehicle. The restaurant where the rehearsal dinner will be held is a really beautiful place. And our friends will all be there to witness the event, something I’m sure Claire will love. The more I go over the idea in my head, the more excited I become. The rest of the night at work flies by as Drew and Jim help me come up with the perfect plan to ask Claire to be my wife.
~
The following Friday evening, Claire, Gavin, and I pull into the parking lot of Pier W, a beautiful landmark restaurant in Cleveland that is designed to resemble the hull of a luxury liner. Its location, perched high on a cliff overlooking Lake Erie, gives it a breathtaking view and makes me one hundred percent certain I have chosen the best location for a marriage proposal.
After a short run-through of the ceremony at the church where the wedding will be held the following afternoon, everyone is looking forward to a relaxing evening with good food and drinks. Jim and Drew keep eying me with furtive glances the entire time we are at the church, winking at me and nudging my arm whenever they can. I come close to punching Drew in the stomach directly under a statue of Mary at one point.
“Hey, Carter, can I pop you a question?”
It's the fourth time Drew has made a reference to asking a question, and I’ve had enough. The groomsmen are standing in a straight line at the side of the altar while the priest speaks quietly to Liz and Jim in the center of the aisle.
“Will you shut the fuck up already? Claire’s going to get suspicious you dick-fuck!” I whisper angrily at him.
“Whoa, dude, slow your roll. You just said f-u-c-k in front of the Virgin Mary. Show some respect,” Drew scolds.
“What’s a virgin?” Gavin asks from his position standing next to me as he swings the ring bearer pillow around his head like a lasso.
“Uh, it’s a kind of chicken,” I stammer. “Very rare. No one talks about it.”
It's impossible not to be nervous as I take Claire’s hand and help her out of the car. My palms are sweating, and I hope she doesn’t notice as I stand there for a minute staring at her while she helps Gavin out of his car seat.
She’s so fucking beautiful I want to cry like a baby.
She closes Gavin’s car door and catches me staring at her.
“Are you okay? You seem a little out of it,” she says as she looked me over.
Shit, is my forehead sweating? Is she looking at me right now wondering why I look like a chubby man with a heart condition who just ate his weight in chicken wings and Jell-O salad at a buffet? That’s not a good look to have when you want the woman you love to look into your eyes and pledge her undying love by saying ‘yes’ to marrying you.
“Mom, my stinky wiener ticks,” Gavin states, interrupting the sweat fest and giving me time to wipe my forehead.
“Um, what does that mean?” Claire asks him.
“It means GET A MOVE ON! I wanna eat some beef turkey!”
The three of us turn and make our way up the sidewalk to the set of stairs that will lead us to the rock face where the restaurant sits.
Once inside the doors, the maître d' escorts us across the room to a long table set up in front of panoramic windows that overlook the lake. We are the last to arrive, as per the plan devised by Drew and Jim. The last three empty seats are strategically placed at the end of the table, the perfect spot for everyone to see what is going to happen.
Our friends are all in the midst of quiet conversations amongst themselves when we walk up but stop long enough to greet us and for Jim to make sure we know not to order any drinks since they are getting champagne. The mention of champagne is over exaggerated with a wink when Claire turns to help Gavin into his seat.
As the conversation moves to talk of the wedding the following day, I try to listen while going over my lines in my head. It doesn’t seem appropriate to use the same speech I had prepared for the Indian’s game proposal since there were words like “grand slam” and “switch hitter”.
Hey, I never had said it was the best speech.
Since that plan had tanked, I needed to start from scratch. On our lunch hours at work every night this week, Drew and Jim helped me write the perfect words to say to Claire. Okay, Jim helped me write the perfect words. Drew wanted me to just throw a ping pong ball at her face, reminiscent of her bartending days at Fosters' Bar and Grill where she made up the game P.O.R.N. According to him, I should whip it at her chin and say, “That won’t be the only ball bouncing off your chin if you say yes!”
After three rough drafts of the proposal and several uses of thesaurus.com, Jim and I had written the most perfect proposal ever. This night needs to be flawless. Claire will spend countless hours retelling the story of how I proposed to everyone she knows, and even a few strangers, for the rest of her life. She deserves the most romantic story to tell.
The waitress comes around a few minutes later to take everyone’s order.
“So, little man, what can I get you?” she asks as she bends down to Gavin’s level.
“I want a virgin,” he states.
Claire starts choking on her water and Liz reaches over to pat her on the back.
“I’m sorry, what do want to order?” the waitress asks him in confusion.
“A virgin. I want to order a virgin,” he repeats, looking at her like she was a moron.
“Don’t we all, son. Don’t we all,” Jim’s father mumbles from a few spots down, receiving a smack on the arm from his wife.
“I think he means chicken,” I clarify sheepishly.
“Yes, because that makes perfect sense,” Claire says under her breath as she picks up her water glass and attempts to take another sip.
With our orders taken, the waitress disappears and conversation resumes.
“Jim, I’ve been meaning to ask if you were able to finish hot gluing those crystals to all the ribbons for the church programs,” Mrs. Gates asks. “And also, don’t forget to put Preparation H under your eyes tomorrow morning.”
Drew starts laughing and Jenny kicks him under the table.
“I’m totally calling him Hemorrhoid Head all day tomorrow.” Drew leans over and whispers to me. “I know he’s been stressed about the wedding, but I didn’t realize it would cause ass itching under his eyes.”
Jim’s mom hears Drew and gives him a stern look that instantly wipes the smile off of his face.
“Andrew, it is well documented that this type of cream can reduce puffiness under one’s eyes. Very effective when one needs to have their pictures taken,” she states primly.
“Also very funny when one’s eyes now have anal leakage,” Drew says under his breath.
“Jim, before you leave tonight remind me to give you the magazine photos of the two different floral arches for you to look at. You’ll just need to tell the florist which one you want her to use at the reception tomorrow when she delivers the boutonnières,” Liz’s mom adds.
Jim is right. This woman is a walking, talking wedding robot.
“Jesus Christ, do it already before she starts talking about wedding favors and I grow a vagina,” Jim begs in a low whisper.
I give him a nod to let him know I'm ready. A big grin breaks across his face as he completely ignores Weddingbot 2000 and signals our waitress while Claire is busy discussing the difference between good words and bad words with Gavin.
Jim and I had met with the manager of the restaurant and our waitress the day before to go over the plan for the evening. The waitress will bring over a tray of champagne for everyone at the table as soon as she is given the signal. At the bottom of Claire’s glass will be the engagement ring I had dropped off this afternoon when I ran out to pick up Gavin’s and my tux.
I couldn’t believe it was finally time to do this. I am going to propose to the woman of my dreams who I thought I’d never see again after our one night in college.
The waitress is back and has served almost half the table their glasses of champagne. I figure it's now or never.
I reach down and clasp Claire’s hand that rests on my thigh, bringing it up to my lips, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.
When she feels my lips on her hand, she turns to look at me.
“I love you so much, Claire,” I say softly as I see the waitress move closer and closer to us out of the corner of my eye.
“I love you too, Carter,” she replies with a smile.
The waitress only has two more people to serve before she gets to us. I know I need to speed things up a bit if I want to time everything just right.
“Oh my gosh, wait until you hear what Jenny said to me earlier. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you,” Claire says as she leans in closer to me and glances over my shoulder to make sure Jenny isn’t listening.
I look behind me as well and see the waitress rounding the table, heading right for us. I need to be down on my knee when she places Claire’s glass in front of her.
Shit!
“Claire, hold that thought. I have something I need to say.”
She completely ignores me and turns sideways in her chair so she can face me and get closer.
“Wait, this is really good! You’re going to love this,” she says excitedly as my foot starts bouncing frantically on the floor when I see the waitress stop right behind Claire to say something to Gavin. “Okay, so Jenny said Drew’s been acting funny lately. Talking about weddings and marriage proposals and asking her hypothetical questions like, ‘If I were to propose to you, what would you want me to say?’ Drew is so damn obvious.”
I look back at Claire, barely registering what she is saying and wondering if it's bad manners to tell her to shut the hell up right before I ask her to marry me.
“Huh? What did you say?” I ask her as she continues to talk and I miss the last few sentences.
“I said Jenny thinks Drew is going to propose to her tonight. Can you believe that shit?”
My head slowly turns to face her, my mouth falling open in shock, the waitress with the champagne long forgotten.
“Drew? Propose? Tonight?”
Fuckshitballdamn!
“I know, right? First of all, they haven’t been together that long and second – who the hell proposes at someone else’s rehearsal dinner? That’s in poor taste if you ask me. You’re taking the spotlight off of the soon-to-be-married couple and putting it on you. It’s like a slap in the face to them. Like, ‘Oh hey, look at me! I’m an asshole and want all eyes on me instead of the two people they should be on! Ha ha, I’m such an asshole, who has a camera to document my assholeness for all of eternity?’” Claire says with a laugh and a shake of her head for the imaginary asshole in her mind.
Except I'm the asshole! I'm the mother fucking asshole!
An arm slides between our bodies and in the haze of my asshole pity party, I realize there is a champagne glass attached to the end of it. I literally feel my brain shutting down. I hear a computerized voice in there counting backwards from five and feel like I'm in the movie “The Hurt Locker” and don’t know whether to cut the red or the blue wire.
The red or the blue?? THE RED OR THE MOTHER FUCKING BLUE?!
Claire reaches for her glass of champagne.
You know how people always talk about how during a moment of panic they feel like they’re in a dream and everything is in slow motion? I have never experienced that before and always just assume they are full of shit and trying to make their story sound better.
Well, I'm right.
This shit isn’t moving in slow motion; it's moving faster than the speed of light, and I'm cutting the wrong wire and exploding into a complete jackass spaz.
My arm, as if completely detached from my body, flies away from its spot resting on the table, knocking over a lit candle, the salt shaker, my own glass of champagne, and two full water glasses until my hand grasps onto Claire’s champagne flute right before it touches her lips.
I yank the glass out of her hand, sloshing expensive champagne everywhere in the process. In the back of my mind I could hear someone yelling, “Noooooooooo!” and am completely oblivious to the fact that the bat shit crazy screamer in the middle of Pier W is me.
Not even taking one second to think about my actions or the fact that everyone in the place is looking at me in horror, I quickly bring the glass to my lips, tip my head back, and dump everything into my mouth, including the ring.
Drew leans over and whispers in my ear when I slam the empty glass back down on the table. “Dude, are you changing the plan? Because if the new plan is that you’re going to try and shit out that ring, I gotta tell ya, that’s not very romantic.”
13. Tee Time
I’m going to cry.
I’m going to cry like a God dammed baby and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s getting hard to swallow because my throat is so tight, and I’m starting to feel like I’m at a rave with a really bad strobe light because of the way I keep blinking my eyes to keep the tears at bay.
Son of a bitch, I’m going to ugly cry. Some women can pull off crying without their make-up running or fluids leaking from every hole in their face but not me. I’m in a gorgeous gown, my hair is professionally done, my make-up is flawless and in three seconds I’m going to ruin it all by losing complete control of the muscles in my face. I’m going to try really hard to stay quiet which is going to fuck me over because it’s going to force me to make sounds that you only hear in the middle of the night on the Discovery Channel. By the time I’m finished, I’m going to look like I have pink eye after being punched in the face by Mike Tyson.
This is all Liz’s fault. Why does she have to look so beautiful?
We’re standing in the alcove at the back of the church, just seconds away from walking down the aisle. The other bridesmaids have already left to meet their groomsmen at the front of the alter, the doors leading into the church closing behind them to keep the guests' first view of the bride a secret until the last minute.
Mrs. Gates is busy fluttering around Liz making last minute adjustments to the train of her dress and reminding her to smile, but not too much or the creases at the corners of her eyes will show in the pictures. She’s standing up and squatting down over and over as she circles Liz, and I giggle-snort around the tears forming in my eyes since she reminds me of a horse on a merry-go-round. I suddenly want to ask Liz if she has a riding crop I can borrow so I can whip her mother and make her go faster.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” I whisper to my best friend as we both ignore her mother reminding Liz to clench her butt cheeks as she walks.
“Me either,” she says with a smile through her own tears.
“I love Jim and I know you two will be so happy together,” I reassure her. “But as your best friend, it is my duty to tell you that should you need it, my car is right outside, fully gassed with the keys in the ignition and a suitcase with vodka in it in the trunk. I’ve also been keeping my pimp hand strong, just in case Jim gets out of line and needs a little bitch slap.”
She laughs and I lean in to give her a quick hug, careful to avoid tugging on her veil or messing up any part of her. I do not need the wrath of Mary Gates raining down upon me.
“Thanks, BFF. I love you.”
The sound of gagging and thumping interrupts our Hallmark card moment and we turned to see Jim’s little cousin Melissa in her flower girl dress straddling Gavin on the floor and trying to choke him. Gavin flails and kicks beneath her, trying to dislodge her hands from around his neck.
“Hey!” I whisper-yell. They both cease all movement and turn to stare at me. “What are you doing?!”
Gavin shoves with all of his might and Melissa tumbles off of him. He scrambles up, grabbing his fallen ring bearer pillow and clutching it to his chest.
“She freaking hell took my pillow! Stupid punk!” Gavin says loudly.
“He kicked me in my no-no-zone!” Melissa complains with a stomp of her foot.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Gates mutters.
“You should eat dirt!” Gavin turns and yells at Melissa.
“I will NOT eat dirt!” she counterattacks.
“EAT IT WITH YOUR CHICKEN FACE!”
It's complete and utter child anarchy and before I can pick a kid to yell at, the organ music changes and begins playing the song that I needed to walk down the aisle to with Gavin and Melissa right behind me.
I quickly bend down in front of both of them and stare them square in the face with as stern of an expression as I can muster.
“Both of you little monsters, listen up. As soon as you step foot out of those doors, you better have smiles on your faces and your outside voices duct taped inside your bodies. If you speak, push, shove, swear, argue, or even blink at each other I will haul your asses out of that church and lock you in the basement with the scary clowns.”
I huff to emphasize my point and stand, tugging up the front of my strapless dress.
“If I see a clown, I’m going to punch him in the nuts.”
“Gavin Allen!” I scold.
“What? We didn’t step fru dose doors yet,” he argues, pointing behind me.
“Kid has a point,” Liz whispers.
“Behave,” I whisper through clenched teeth as I turn and nodded to the two church attendants so they can open the double doors for my entrance.
“My mom’s not afraid to punch a kid,” I hear Gavin whisper to Melissa as I take my first step down the aisle.
Thankfully, my threat pays off and both kids make it to the front of the church without killing each other. The ceremony is beautiful and the only interruption came during communion.
Liz is Catholic so she had wanted a full, Roman Catholic service. Carter is a “sort-of” Catholic in that he was baptized, made his First Communion and everything else he was required to do while growing up, but he only goes to church for holidays, weddings, and funerals. Regardless, when it comes time for communion, he gets in line and takes Gavin with him since Gavin is on his side of the church through the ceremony.
I really don’t believe in any one religion, but I have been known to sit in on a few services every once in a while just in case someone up there is taking notes. I sit in my seat in the front row with one other bridesmaid who isn’t Catholic and we watch the procession and smile at those who walk by. I crane my neck and watch happily as Carter holds Gavin’s hand while he stands in front of the priest and receives his little Jesus wafer. In the quiet serenity of the process, with only the beautiful sounds of the organ to fill the silence, Gavin’s voice bursts through the tranquility.
“Whatchu got in your mouth?”
I bite my lip and cringe at how easily Gavin’s voice carries through the church. Carter bends over and whispers something to Gavin as they turn and start to walk back to their seats in the front row on the opposite side of the church from me.
“GIMMEE WHATCHU GOT IN YOUR MOUTH!”
I cover my eyes with my hand but not before seeing Gavin try to shove his little hand into Carter’s mouth. Carter smacks his hand away and as they both sit down, Carter pulls his cell phone out of the pants pocket of his tux and hands it over to Gavin. His face lights up with glee as he snatches the phone out of Carter’s hand and sits down quietly next to him. Obviously, Carter is quickly learning that as a parent, nothing works quite as well as bribery. Seconds later the opening notes from Angry Birds blare through the soft din of organ music, and Carter quickly grabs the phone from Gavin to silence the sounds while Gavin yells, “Heeeey! I was playing that!”
The ceremony finally ends and we spend the next couple of hours getting pictures taken. Before I know it, we are finishing up dinner at the reception and the wait staff begin clearing tables. As part of the wedding party, we are all seated at the long head-table at the front of the room. It’s always fun to sit facing a group of two hundred strangers so they can watch you eat.
Carter takes his seat next to me after a quick trip to the bathroom, and I noticed he was rubbing his shoulder in pain.
“What happened?”
“I passed Jenny and Drew on the way back from the bathroom. She wanted to know if I loved the Balsa McChicken we had for dinner,” Carter explains with a raise of one eyebrow.
“I take it you told her it’s called balsamic chicken?”
“No. I asked her if that was something new McDonald’s was serving on their menu with the McRib. Drew punched me.”
I glance around the room until I find my father and see him getting up from his table. He offers to head out early and take Gavin home with him as soon as he gets tired. I look at the chair next to me where Gavin is currently asleep on his stomach with his head, arms, and legs dangling down towards the floor.
“No, I didn’t club him like a baby seal,” I assure my dad as he puts his hands on the table and leans over it to get a look at his grandson.
“Your mother is starting to tell people about Tee Time. I think that’s my cue to leave,” my dad tells me as I stand with Carter while he scoops Gavin up into his arms and passes him off to my dad.
“What’s Tee Time?” Carter asks as we watch Gavin sigh and snuggle his face into my dad’s shoulder, muttering something about flashlights and donkey kicks.
My dad smiles evilly at Carter and then looks at me. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the Rachel Morgan Tee Time tradition.”
We say our good-byes and as the reception hall door closes behind them, my mother’s voice comes over the microphone’s speaker.
“TEE TIME! IT’S TEE TIME! Everyone meet over by the bar in five minutes!”
I close my eyes and sigh as I hear Jim let out an excited yell and jump up from his seat.
When I open my eyes, Carter is watching as a crowd of about twenty people, led by Jim, walk over to the bar.
“What is going on?”
“Carter! Now that you are part of this family, it’s time you learned about the grand old tradition that is Tee Time,” my mother exclaims as she pushes her way between us and grabs both of our arms to leads us to the bar. “This is an age old ritual that my family performs at every wedding to ensure the married couple lives a long, happy life together and that all of their ups and downs are in the bedroom.”
Jim stands by the bar, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement as we made our way up to him.
“Mrs. Morgan! What’s our first order of business at this Tee Time gathering?” he asks with a big grin.
“I do believe whiskey is the first on the agenda tonight, my handsome groom,” she replies with a smack to his ass as she waves someone over from another table.
“Hold on, wait just a second!” Liz’s mom yells as she comes running up to us. “The cake needs to be cut, and you still haven’t done the first dance and the photographer still needs-”
My mom steps in front of Mary’s path and puts her hand up to stop her from getting any closer to Jim.
“Mary, dear, you look stressed. When was the last time you used the bullet I gave you for your birthday last year and gave yourself a nice, big orgasm?”
My mother, after having dealt with Mary Gates for enough years, knows exactly how to divert her attention onto something else. It's nice to see her focusing on someone else’s sex life for once. With Mary sputtering and at a loss for words, the wedding reception checklist is forgotten.
“I have to say, I’m a little bit astounded by the fact that you were still a virgin the night we met. How is it possible your mother never bought you a male hooker for your birthday?” Carter asks.
Jim lets out a cheer when he sees his mother-in-law practically running away from the bar and yells to the bartender for twenty shots of whiskey to go around.
“So really, Tee Time is just another excuse to get trashed at a wedding?” Carter asked.
“That would be correct,” I reply as I take the shot glass filled with amber liquid that is handed to me. “Calling it Stupid Time would just be too obvious.”
“I guess since you’re drinking that means this gorgeous stud hasn’t impregnated you again,” my mother states as she takes her own.
“MOM!” I scold.
“What? Can you blame me for wanting another grandchild? You two make beautiful babies. The man obviously has super sperm. And by the looks of your late-night kitchen trysts, he still knows where to put it.”
Mortification, party of one, your table is now ready.
“Did I ever tell you about the boyfriend I had in college who thought blow jobs could cause pregnancy? It’s a shame really. I can suck a tennis ball through a crazy straw but he missed out.”
Shouldn’t there be some sort of law about people knowing these things about one of their parents?
My mother finally shuts up as Jim leads the group in a toast that consists of everyone raising their shot glasses, chanting “Tee Time, Tee Time, Tee Time!” before downing the whiskey.
Carter quickly learns the ins and the outs of Tee Time. Basically, the person in charge (my mother) borrows the microphone from the DJ and announces when it’s Tee Time. It starts off as being every twenty minutes. After the first few rounds everyone quickly forgets just how far apart Tee Time is supposed to be. Eventually, it’s every ten minutes, then every five minutes, and then there is someone puking in the middle of the dance floor and the bartender is out of a job because Tee Time attendance quickly jumped from twenty people to seventy-eight people and they’ve taken over the bar so they can pour the shots faster.
Every single wedding I have ever attended since I was three had a Tee Time. And frankly, even some of the funerals adopted the same tradition since honoring the dead can only be accomplished with adults sitting by the casket snort-laughing and loudly discussing how they think they just saw the body move.
Two hours after the first Tee Time, I plant my ass down at one of the tables, slide off my heels, and prop my feet up on a chair so I can watch Carter, Jim, and Drew attempt to break dance to a Celine Dion song. Drew has long since shed his tuxedo coat and white dress shirt, not really caring who sees the tee shirt he wore underneath that says “I’m not the groom, but I’ll let you put a ring on it” with a picture of a cock ring below the words. I watch Carter attempt to do the Running Man, unable to stop the huge grin that spreads across my face.
