Golden Girls

“Picture it, Sicili 1942,” well no not really, but I love the little old Italian mother in Golden Girls.

Anyway, picture it, Long Island, 1995. Mob wedding, not really, but it makes it a better story. A very good, crazy, wacky, goofy, friend of mine married into the family, sorry, a family, from Long Island, pronounced, luong guyland. I would like to say he did it for love, but come on, he is now running a very large business, actually two, owns his own plane, races sail boats in “the” city, and travels constantly. Sur, he did it for love.

This weekend started off great, we were running late. “We,” stands for the second really bad choice, according to my father. Were always running late, and by saying we, I mean she. Man this women could not be on time, could not plan to be on time, and oh by the way, it was always my fault. She also had a friend with her, staying in the next room, if she had been cuter this would be a different story entirely. They were both running late. I vaguely remember the two of them both in my room while we were getting ready trying on shoes and deciding on outfits, isn’t that something one usually decides prior to going away for the weekend to a wedding?

Anyway, once we got to the point of no return and then some I made them get in the car with their stuff because we just simply did not have time to wait anymore. I am driving on the Long Island Expressway, using every lane, including the breakdown lane, and the service lane – read breakdown lane to the left of the car pool lane, up against Jersey barrier. They are both getting “ready,” meaning dressed, as I break the sound barrier, and multiple traffic laws, all at one time. Do you have any idea how hard it is to drive in that kind of traffic, and in that fashion, with half naked women in the car? Read that any way you want.

So living through that experience, we arrived at the church just in the nick of time, and with me in a very bad mood. Ok, I was pissed. This is one of the most important people in my life, the friend getting married, not the girl, and we are arriving at his wedding as his bride is preparing to walk down the aisle. They said “I do,” hours later, I do not like long wedding ceremonies, and then we headed off to the reception. The reception for some unknown reason was an hour and a half after the wedding, and half an hour from the church.

We did the math, and decided that by the time the reception started, and everyone was there, it would be a long time before dinner was served so we should stop and get some food. I decided that we should try t find the deli that was around the corner from where my mother’s mother used to live. We did. Bought so much amazing food, and ate likes kings, and queens, on the way to the reception. This was not a good decision.

I found out shortly thereafter that we were also not well informed. This was a “black and white” wedding, which means that everyone was dressed to the “nines,” and that there was no expense spared at all. As people arrived at the reception they were greeted by a tall thin man in tails, and he would take your keys, hand them to the hired help, and they would park your car. You then walked through an amazing tunnel of ached iron and white lace, lit by white candles. The tunnel was about fifty yards long, and at the end you came into a pool house straight from a Hollywood set. There was a gigantic main pool, a hot tub in each corner, and a pasta station about every ten feet around the outside.

Once inside the food started immediately as you could have any kind of pasta fixed for you in just about any way, and this was just the appetizers. About two hours after we arrived we were seated for dinner, and a two hour long seven course meal was served. This was an amazing affair.

As we were eating our dessert my friends and I began plotting our attack. Were whispering and making eye contact and being very sly, at least we thought we were. All of a sudden my friend stood up from his seat at the head table and started sprinting back towards the pool house. We all followed immediately on a dead run. He had us by ten yards, but since he knew we were not going to stop he had already decided this was going to be on his terms. He did a perfect spread eagle as he went airborne into the pool. I managed to get my jacket off in transit and followed right behind. Soon there were a dozen of us in the pool, all in tuxes. Before long this was coed, and at least I had the decency to leave my slacks on, but only my slacks.

A little while later my girlfriend, or mistake number two, wanted to speak with me so I climbed out of the pool. Her friend was there as well, and I was speaking to both of them, facing them with my back to the pool. The next thing I remember is the feel of wet skin being pressed up against my back. A spy had been sent to sabotage my evening. This spy was not wearing much at all, that would be considered an understatement, and she was cold. Naturally she thought pressing herself up against a warm man was the logical decision. I had no real objection, but I also did not know this woman, nor did I see her coming from the pool. Nonetheless, this was my fault.

This was the most amazing wedding I have ever attended, and the most absurd reason I can think of for getting in trouble with a girlfriend, but then again my dad was right.

Thank you again for getting this far with me.