I get married in an hour and a half. So far the disasters have been slim, especially since I’ve been secluded to the “prayer room” with five groomsmen/body guards. I am away from all social gatherings until 6:25 p.m. when they shove me in a closet with the offient.
But I do get to send the groomsmen around to do piddley tasks for me – go get me coffee, you need to stir my coffee because I’m wearing an ivory tux, unzip my pants because I can’t tuck my shirt in because my fingernails are dirty, etc.
“You can’t leave this room…ever,” Erik, the groomsman escorting grandmas up to the alter, said as he walked in with his own small cup of java.
First of all, I must ask permission to leave – in lieu of seeing the bride prancing about the hallways.
“I need to pee, who is going to take me?”
So, Erik volunteered and I put my hand around my eyes, afraid of witnessing the bride before she made her presentation at the tip of the isle, and Erik led me to the bathroom. It was down a handicap slope and around the corner.
He led me into a wall.
As I peed, the groomsmen called out that Eagle One’s hose was watering the grass acting like the secret service, wearing sunglasses.
It’s 5:09 p.m. now.
I am currently sitting in a grandma-styled room with velour chairs, circled around each other, listening to golf stories from the groomsmen. Each groomsman has had a dilemma with his tux and so I handed the cell to my more angry groomsmen, Tom, to handle the problems with After Hours, where we rented the tuxes.
Erik, the groomsman who will escort the grandmas, has pointy shoes, while the rest of us aren’t aerodynamic with our square-toed.
Tom spun around like Linda Blair from “Exorcist” and ripped the side of his pants.
Daniel, the eleven-year-old usher, popped the button off his jacket on accident.
So, Tom got on the phone with his angry voice and told the subservient workers at the tux shop what we needed and to deliver it right away. Or else.
5:15 p.m.
While sitting in the prayer room, the best man, my brother, opened the Bible and on the first blank page was a drawing of a penis with legs.
“That’s what I learned about in Sunday school – banana Jesus,” Brad said.
“Oh, it’s probably a Veggie Tale…or Jesus,” Erik said.
And then I had to leave to get my picture taken with the bridesmaids and the groomsmen all decided to write a Harlequin Romance passage:
“And then I mushroom-stamped the lot of them, and, glory be, the resemblance to the picture in The Book was incredible! I smote them with my divine scepter, leaving Brad’s head a quivering mound of love pudding!”
5:25 p.m. and I’m left alone to listen to see if the tux shop calls – even though the phones are on silent and Tom has missed three phone calls as he was standing in the room. As much as I would like them to look as good as possible, I can’t leave the room to find someone to take the phone call.
5:34 p.m. and I sip coffee through a stir stick as the man from After Hours fingers thread to re-sew a button on Dan’s tux jacket, and my dad walks in and declares that my mom had a shot of wine before arriving at the church to calm herself down. I’m the baby of the family and we decided she should’ve taken a shot of vermouth instead.
5:47 and Erik asked what time is it and half the groomsmen rush to the bathroom ready to pee, knowing it takes fifteen minutes to unleash the beast over the urinal since tux pants are loaded with two hooks, a zipper and – wait, Brad corrected me to say that there were buttons on the pants, and even though the button’s on the inside, he realized his fly was down, probably during pictures, especially the one where he was right next to my future wife.
5:49 and Brad left, remembering the groomsmen are also ushers with only ten minutes before they start shoving people into the pews – and I cannot leave to go to the bathroom, and I need to, I really, really need to because I don’t want to fart during the service. Its candlelit and the church will catch on fire – and remember, I’m drinking coffee.
5:50 and the wedding photographer (a good friend of mine) walked in and took a snap shot with me in my tux, writing.
5:53 and the groomsmen are asking Dan, the 11-year-old usher, if he picked out his bridesmaid yet. Dan said no, but Brandon suggested that we all get a little Smirnoff in him.
The candles are being lit. The ushers are in line to throw people in the pews and I will wait another half-hour before I’m shoved into the closet.
After the closet, I’ll be a married man.