This weekend, I'll be at my niece-in-law's wedding in Nebraska. I'm sure it will be great, but it has a lot to live up to based on the two previous nuptials I've attended in Cornhusker Country.
The first was your standard church wedding followed by a huge buffet dinner at the local airfield Quonset hut. About midway through, a group of male party-goers kidnapped the bride, hauled her through the snowy night to a bar for shots of Wild Turkey and a drink of champagne from her shoes.
(Kids, on that last item, trust me -- sparkling wine is no match for sweaty bride toes. A nice Chianti, perhaps ...)
I, still a lifelong Northeastern at that point, was told that kidnapping the bride and getting her sloshed was a Nebraska tradition. A tradition, I should note, not approved of by her newly minted mother-in-law who, back at the Holiday Inn later that night, referred to her daughter-in-law as "that slut."
Divorce followed a few years later.
After that experience, I felt fully prepared for my second wedding a few years later. However, I failed to factor in two things: the bride-to-be was My Love's best friend and she, as well as her husband-to-be, were both morticians.
People, you've never partied until you've partied with Midwestern morticians in love.
To sum up the pre- and post-martial event highlights:
The night before the wedding much alcohol was consume. I may have danced on a table. Later, I may have ended up under said table. Someone definitely ended up in My Love's pants. While she was still wearing them. Elastic waistbands -- comfort and convenience, folks, it's all about comfort and convenience in Nebraska.
Said Pants-Dancer, a person My Love had been good friends with since they met at a college party and she promptly vomited on him, split the evening between a hotel room with two married women and the backseat of his car.
The marriage ceremony was held in the funeral parlor's chapel. Some call it circle of life. Some call it creepy. I call it a wicked contact high courtesy the formaldehyde being used in the embalming room downstairs.
The room the reception was held in also served as the local VFW hall. First time I ever bought scratch cards at a reception before. Cha-ching -- $2 winner, barkeep!
The bride's mom served us guests sausage and peppers on Wonder bread at the reception. Now you know why My Love brought pants with an elastic waistband.
Also in Nebraska, you have what is called a Dollar Dance. Everyone lines up and pays a dollar to dance with either the bride or the groom. One of the people collecting the dollars on behalf of the happy couple that night was Pants-Dancer. When my turn came up, I tucked a George in his cummerbund and folks, let me tell you, the boy can dip.
Now that you know this, if I'm not back here by Wednesday morning, alert the authorities. Tell them to bring more formaldehyde.
And some Odor Eaters.
Video: "Right Here in Nebraska," The String Beans
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