Over the past few years, my wife and I have encountered a series of experiences that all fall under the label of Y.A.W.W. , or “Yet Another Wedding Weekend”. This weekend marked the end, at least for the foreseeable future, of our YAWW experiences.
As we’ve hit our mid-to-late 20’s, the vast majority of our good friends have each taken their turn in being picked off by Cupid’s Bow and have entered into the bonds of holy matrimony. Each one, in turn, has stridden down the aisle and attempted to maintain their composure in the face of beaming fathers, sobbing mothers and emotional bridesmaids.
Friday it was Little Doug’s turn to face those “dangers”. I’ve known Little Doug since my frosh year of college and roomed with him (as well as Andy and Aron) my sophomore year, after which the three of them “abandoned” me for the halls of their illustrious fraternity, Psi Upsilon.
Enough of the background. L.D. was marrying his childhood sweetheart and Friday was the day. The wedding itself went off without a hitch, although the church was a bit stuffy. The bride seemed a bit distracted, but then again, it was her wedding day, so that sort of thing isn’t completely unheard of.
The reception was held at a country club and we all enjoyed eating, drinking and dancing the night away. The DJ played both “Hammer Time” and “Baby Got Back” which basically caused every one of us whiteboys to dredge up the lyrics from the memory banks and shout out the words in a fashion at once alarming and extremely amusing to our assorted female companions. A good time was had by all, and if anyone tells you I did “the Carlton”, they’re filthy liars. (Side note: why do no bartenders, at least the types that serve at wedding receptions, seem to know what neat means? If I wanted my bourbon sullied by soda or ice, I’d ask for it.)
Little Doug and his bride weren’t set to take off for their honeymoon until today (Sunday), so we joined them and their relatives at the Vaughn’s (Little Doug’s parents) house for a brunch on Saturday morning, followed by a trip to the Delaware River, ostensibly for water skiing. Unfortunately, the Vaughn’s Jersey Skiff had recently had its carburetor overhauled and it wasn’t working quite right (the float was staying in the “up” position), meaning that we quickly hydro-locked the engine with fuel and ended up putting a pretty nice layer of carbon on all the spark plugs before we realized anything was wrong.
All in all, though, it was a fitting end to our spate of weddings. Now we’ll just have to start scouting IHOPs for when our kids start getting married…
