Pearls before swine

The rehearsal dinner was ending; the guests slowly shuffled out, leaving only my brother Doug and a few of my closest friends in the restaurant alcove. The “core lads,” as they were known.

Doug put a solemn hand on my shoulder. “Dude,” he said. “This is it. There’s nothing between you and tomorrow. We need to go out for one final session.”

The other guys surrounded me. They nodded earnestly and uttered similar sentiments.

My bachelor party had been a week before so I’d be in good shape for my wedding. I shook my head. “No, you guys. I can’t,” I said. “We already went out.”

But after ten minutes of cajoling, pestering, warning of the dire consequences of marriage, I weakened. OK, but only for one beer. I’m serious.

The people at our favorite little pub, Visions, shook their heads when they heard the news. A pitcher was produced in record time and my brother, as best man, made a toast…here’s to your last night of freedom, or something along those lines. I sipped my beer with a feeling of closure.

But Doug and the core lads had other ideas. A few whispers with the girl behind the bar and five or six shots appeared. “Hey, come on,” I protested. “I said one beer.”

But resistance was futile. It was the first of many shots and accompanied by other merriment including one guy doing a little jig on the bar and the volume on the jukebox being set to maximum. The rest of the night was a blur; the last thing I remember was getting sick in the parking lot as my brother thumped my shoulder and the guys shouted.

I awoke the next morning on Doug’s fold-out couch. His bulldog Georgia was licking me in the face and wheezing. “Hey dude!” Doug boomed as he came in. “Get up! You’re getting married in three hours!” I groaned and turned my face away from Georgia’s slobbery ministrations.

I was in my mid twenties and fortunately had the resilience of youth. An hour in the shower, laying down in the tub, and the bodily insult of the previous night vanished. Doug and his wife helped me into my tuxedo and drove me to the church. On the way, we reviewed who was to do what and when.

The music started; to my left was Doug and my groomsmen. To my right was Sue’s maid of honor and her bridesmaids. Pastor Dingle…who I’d known since I was nine…stood behind us.

The door at the narthex opened and I had my first glimpse of my bride. Her dad had her on his arm and they slowly came forward as the guests turned. Her mom had made her wedding dress and to say she looked radiant would not do her justice. I felt a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. Hoo boy.

Pastor Dingle’s voice became faint as Sue caught and held my gaze. Her eyes shone; her kind smile emerged faintly. It’s gonna be OK, she said silently. I love you.

The knot and lump vanished and were replaced by a sense of wonder. I never thought she’d go out with me. I never thought she say yes when I knelt on the promenade of a Palm Beach restaurant overlooking the ocean and opened a tiny box. I never thought I’d be here, now, in this place, holding hands, saying vows. exchanging rings. I marveled at this gift I had been given.

I looked at our wedding album this afternoon; memories from over 35 years ago come flooding back. A kiss for luck and we’re on our way goes the song.

Guess that kiss worked; I’m the lucky one.