A Redneck Wedding

While visiting my parents over xmas, the subject of weddings came up (since my number is up for one), and I was reminded of this story.  It's completely true, I'm afraid.

When I was in junior high, my friend Jed's mom, a house cleaner, met Donald, a tug boat captain, and they decided to get married.  They were apparently pretty good at weddings and receptions since this was to be his second and her third.

In spite of this, they arranged to have their wedding and the reception at their apartment.  I guess this was more spacious than their trailer which they were renting out so they could make the rent on the apartment.  (Don't think too hard about that; obviously they knew what they were doing.)

When the Monday of their wedding came (yes, Monday), they had a number of friends over, including me and my parents.  My dad was the only one to wear a tie to the wedding.  We were new to the ways of the natives.  Come to think of it, my dad may have been the only one of the guys who didn't wear jeans.

After the ceremony in the living room officiated by a preacher they knew, we had a small reception in which the wedding cake doubled as the cake for Jed's (half)sister's 8th birthday.  Or maybe vice versa since it had her name on it, after all, and not the more traditional bride and groom statuettes we have come to expect at such events.  Fortunately, my family also had the distinction of being the only one of the four or five couples in attendance to have brought a gift: A cake serving dish.  I'm not sure where my mom came up with the idea for this present, seeing as how the couple hadn't bothered to register anywhere.

Much drinking followed the ceremony, mostly in the form of beer, and toward the end of the night, Donald, the groom, announced to the wedding party, "You know what I'm going to do in that bedroom later tonight?"  It seemed to be a rhetorical question.  This was, after all, his honeymoon night, even though he had been living with his new wife for several months by this time.

"You know what I'm going to do in there," Donald asked more insistently (as he characteristically did when his level of inebriation was about a six-pack short of a coma).  We collectively sort of shrugged.  While there were plenty of euphemisms on the tips of our tongues, there were kids present, so we defaulted to Donald.

"I'm going to take that tv there..."  He pointed to the big set next to the impromptu altar that was now back to its original role as a fireplace.  "I'm going to take it in the bedroom and watch San Francisco play the Jets on Monday Night Foodball!"


Copyright 2006 Ale[x]plorer.
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