Sometimes I worry. Actually, I worry all the time. But sometimes I worry that I don't worry enough. On Sunday, while we drove home from Pierre and Doyle's wedding, I worried that my insouciant demeanor had somehow diminished Pierre's conception of my conception of the grandeur of he and his wife's wedding day. Because of this, I didn't sleep last night. Wow, that was a mouthful. Allow me to expound.
I'm given to speaking my mind, particularly in the presence of friends. As fate would have it, what is most often on my mind is inane, profane nonsense. Unfortunately, the presence of strangers and distinguished adults often fails to temper this honesty, leaving me to toe the line between social correctness and juvenile delinquency. Thankfully, I've managed to make friends who find my candor oddly refreshing. And most of the time, we happen to congregate in environments with tacit rules for behavior that are without nuance. In these settings I can usually take care of myself. Don't break any laws. Easy enough. I can wrap my head around that.
Weddings are nuanced, however. They have strange unspoken guidelines like, don't shower the congregation with thinly veiled innuendo, and keep your pants on. I somehow managed to make it through the ceremony and cocktail hour with minimal embarrassment. At least I wasn't the girl whose dress blew up in the wind during the ceremony, revealing to the entire congregation a purple thong situated right between two voluptuous cheeks of butt.
As the beautiful day gradually became night, however, the dynamic changed. The other groomsmen were no longer at my side helping me circumnavigate potential behavioral pitfalls. SSShhhhh, no, no, no, you can't say that! eventually gave way to unconditional encouragement when we found ourselves back at the hotel after the reception, eating pizza and having drinks with the other wedding guests and the bridegroom. It was there that, for reasons that continue to escape my modest grasp, I felt it necessary to show people my underwear.
Moose wasn't impressed. Unfortunately, Brendan anticipated the whole thing and pulled my skibbies down right there in the lobby. At that point, I'm pretty sure no one was impressed.
2 comments:
Please tell me you sat on that bottle after you pulled you pants down. Did the wsssossh sound come to fruition?
i didn't do that. i just encouraged you to continue "beatboxing" which basically consisted of you spitting everywhere and annoying everyone except me.
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