THE RECEPTION

We arrived and sent word in to the DJ that we were ready. From the female contingent, there arose quite a clatter, the bride’s not bustled, nor have I a cheese platter. I must keep these rhyme schemes from tales of Christmas yore out of my head. What I witnessed next was remarkable, in at least a couple of ways: part Victorian flashback, part peep show, and part engineering marvel. First the ladies lifted up the back of Christa’s dress, as if it was perfectly natural to do so. I was taken aback by the friskiness of the bridesmaids but realized that Christa had plenty of material covering all the fancy parts. The throwback part was the so-called maidens busying themselves with the lady of the manor’s appearance. The peep-show part was the momentary curiosity that comes from any female’s dress being lifted. I marveled at the process itself. I think someone removed an instruction card from under there somewhere, and as I moved around to the front to allow Christa some modesty, I could have sworn I saw pieces of material labeled with letters. There was an entire puzzle hidden under there. I didn’t spec out the material dimensions or see the handiwork that produced the equivalent of a drawn Roman shade, within a couple of minutes, but it was an impressive feat. I did a quick clasp readjust on my expandable pants to feel as though I too, was being fussed over. I figured my groomsmen wouldn’t want to help.

DJ re-signaled, intros made, tables sat at, quiz began. It was as honest as the guess-your-weight game, but it did allow for a carnival atmosphere, and no one parties like the carnies.

Our master plan scheduled our first dance immediately after we finished eating, while everyone else, hopefully, was still at it. We wanted our guests’ primary focus to be on the food in front of them, so they wouldn’t realize that we weren’t really moving around that much. Though I wouldn’t have dazzled a three-legged hippo with my grace, it was the best dance ever. If my life ever flashes before my eyes, that moment is one of a handful of snapshots I would want to see.

Toasts were made (by Matt and Angie). Then we moved to cake cutting. This was not an instantaneous move. We weren’t transported, and we didn’t actually cut the cake, at first. We pretended to cut the cake. We pretended to cut the cake twice, or maybe we continued the initial pretending. This was one of several moments when the photographer wanted us to simulate doing something that we were about to do. Why he doesn’t use his vision of the future to prevent crime, I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want to be immersed in a nutrient pool, while Tom Cruise gets all the credit. After we fake-cut the cake, we cut the cake. I mangled the hell out of that first piece, but I won’t blame the equipment. We had decided long ago, individually, and more recently in a bridal congress, not to smash, force, or smear any portion of cake on one another’s face. There was too much to mess up: makeup, hair, the dress, and our painstakingly crafted, cost-effective image of class and elegance. We delicately fed one another, making extra certain not to bite fingers in the process. They say it is better to give than to receive, which I think depends on the circumstances, but it is certainly more difficult to give and receive at the same time. We kissed afterwards, and the pre-cog nailed it, best photo of the day, hands down.

Another toast made (by Marvin), bouquet thrown, garter tossed, danced with parents, danced with bridal party, danced in general.

At the completion of the bridal dance, the DJ tried to seize on the momentum and brought out the pre-selected ringer. We were about to witness the making or breaking of the reception. This one song would determine the dancing future of the rest of our lives. It was our only match to ignite the passion of the dance. I heard the intro, and now the voice-over to put fuel on the fire and start the inferno. It’s “Celebration” time.

“There is cake available for those who want it on the tables by the bar,” he announced.

There was a saboteur in our mix! The single most important decision in our entire planning, the foreteller of our marital bliss, the ringer, was preceded by an announcement regarding the availability of cake. You’ve ruined us. You saw the cake. You knew how tempting it was. You were here to liberate the people from the confines of their chairs, to feel the freedom of the dance, and make our reception a success. But when your moment came, you turned your back on us and pursued the true prize, the fossil-fuel thick chocolate goodness of gluttonous excess.

Toast made (by Christa), toast made (by Drew). I thanked everyone for coming, those who couldn’t make it, and even those we hadn’t invited, because we don’t discriminate and do love all people.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival