And what a wedding it was. The night before, at the rehearsal dinner, Amanda announced that if any of us even thought about going out after rehearsal, and if any of us got so stinking drunk that we showed up to the wedding bleary-eyed and hungover, she was going to leave Jason at the altar. Just like that. See you later, Jason. She made this announcement in a stern, no-nonsense voice, a voice I imagine she uses with the high school students to whom she teaches geometry proofs. And as much as that voice might work on a bunch of sweaty, pimply high schoolers, it doesn't so much work on a wedding party that had dealt with her bride wrath for the last month. Afterward, as she was saying goodbye to her family, the wedding party scuttled outside to the parking lot and said, "So, where's the closest bar?"
Ex-Keith was the best man, so he rallied the troops and got us to a bar immediately after the crowd broke up. The last thing I remember is squealing out of the parking lot, leaving Amanda in the dust. She wagged a finger at us and screamed, "I WILL LEAVE HIM AT THE ALTAR, KEITH! I AM SERIOUS!"
The next day even the wedding photographer would make fun of the groomsmen, who'd been instructed if they brought so much as a flask of liquor to the pre-ceremony goings-ons, they would all die long, painful deaths. Instead of putting on their tuxes while having a beer--as, I guess, is customary for groomsmen--they carried giant beer steins of Pepsi.
And even if we seemed behaved that day, I can assure you we did not behave the night before. In fact, Amy drank so much she puked all night long (yet still looked refreshed and rested when she slid into her Maid of Honor gown). I drank so much I made perverse phone calls to the MFA boys all night long as I was supposed to be sleeping on Amy and Becky's living room floor. And while still at the bar, Amy and Keith had a contest to see who could blow the highest BAC on the bar's built-in tester.
Half of that video is sideways because I was so full of vodka I had no idea what was going on. It was a fabulous night. A fabulous night that led to a long wedding, a reception where no one danced (except the ring bearer and the members of the wedding party who milked the open bar), and a party that ended at ten o'clock, which left us in the parking lot, drinking three bottles of champagne Amanda wouldn't let us open when we were getting our hair done ("This," she told me, "is a solemn occasion. I don't want any liquor around."). And sometime during those hours, the wedding photographer--who really thought us bridesmaids were quite the little pips--took my favorite, favorite, favorite picture:
In that picture, it completely looks like Amanda is saying, You fuck this up, Jason, and I will tear the claws out of each of your dogs.
Here's hoping I don't see that look this week, and here's hoping the ban of liquor has been permanently lifted.
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