Wedding Tips with Kate Symank
February 20, 2007
Fancy country club, black tie affair, delicious food.
These are the images that drift through my mind as the woman inviting me to her son’s wedding reception rattles on. I assure her that I can fit it into my schedule.
“Great,” she says, “and would you mind being in charge of the guest book?”
This is odd, considering I have never met anyone in the wedding party. All I know is that the groom is the brother-of-one-of-my-sister’s-friends. I suppose that makes us family. Also, I am always up for a bit of fun.
“Absolutely!” I say.
I decide my new, bright red, sparkly, slinky party dress is perfect for the occasion. My family arrives (late as usual), and I realize that my choice of dress was a mistake. In fact, my whole family sticks out in this place like a sore thumb. The room is filled with black tuxedos and floor-length formals. Women stare haughtily at my short red dress and almost reproachingly at my dad, who is sporting a mismatching slacks/tan shirt combo. I’m guessing they didn’t appreciate his Bugs Bunny tie.
Never in my life have I seen so many important people in one place. The room is filled with senators, doctors, professors, and other random rich people. I suspect the newlyweds think this will get them better presents. After an hour of greeting and taking presents from stuffy middle-aged couples, I retreat into the dining room where the speeches are just beginning.
The groom’s father decides to pass the microphone around the room and have people introduce themselves, share how they know the bride or groom, and offer their best wishes. To my dismay, he walks to my table first and with a wide grin introduces me as the groom’s “good friend” before passing me the microphone. I’m frozen in a moment mixed with horror (for being put on the spot), and intense disdain (for the man who has put me here).
I say nothing.
“Come on, won’t you say anything?” he laughs.
I can’t speak.
The microphone looms in front of my face like the black spot of death. I look helplessly around the room to see a hundred people staring back at me.
“Well, that’s a shame,” he says and slowly moves away.
An hour later he scouts me out to express his disappointment in me. I try to laugh away my burning anger and provide a feeble apology. He tells me not to worry and gives my cheek a smacking kiss!
Disgusting.
After an eternity, I am released from this torture chamber, and although I had a good laugh about it later, I will undoubtedly think twice next time I’m invited to any wedding reception.
Now you go...
Got something to say?