 |
A wedding,
a reception brawl, and
the bride and groom’s wedding night will be in jail. Or will it?
_866
words Romance
|
No Wedding Night
by
Neale Sourna
_Las
Vegas NV USA;
Today
Fisticuffs,
as my
Great Gran would say, broke out at our wedding; just before our vows
were done.
It was my bride’s brother against my best brother slash best man; then
her
sister slash matron of honor against my favorite girl cousin teamed
with that
cuz’s favorite BFF.
A
groomsman, with
valiant stupidity, waded into the fray—with the unladylike
womenfolk—and got
promptly damaged, slightly.
The
police were
called, by someone. No one’s admitting it. The cops settled everyone
down.
Thankfully, no one went to jail, or the hospital.
All
right the hard
part.
She
cried, out of
frustration, out of disappointment, out of embarrassment, while locked
in her
vestry dressing room, and she finally let me in, and finally let me
talk her
back to the altar to say our I do’s.
And
we did, but the
bad vibes hung there, I guess, contaminating everything, festering
beneath our
façade of happiness.
My
family doesn’t
like her family and ditto with her family’s feelings toward mine.
It
seems that our
making them both one family wasn’t working out. Isn’t this why old
countries
used to marry off their royal kids to their rival warring kingdom, in
order to
make blood peace? I must be the only one who loved history class. Of
course,
blood peaces resumed many a blood war.
We
went to the
reception, we had a peaceful meal and sweet toasts and teary eyed
toasts and
funny toasts, and we had our first dance, but the open bar’s prepaid
liquor was
fueling fires in those still burning with discontent. Did I mention
countries
at war...? [more]
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