This past weekend, my cousin Alexis got married. She’s only a couple years older than me (which makes this whole experience seem really bizarre, since I’m really not ready for her to be getting married at this point. She and I were pretty close as kids; when I think about her getting married I immediately start to remember things like the briefcase game, a game we invented when I was probably about five, which (as far as I remember) mostly involved walking around with a briefcase and chanting, “Briefcase! Briefcase! Briefcase!” Once my father yelled at us to stop shouting “Briefcase”, so, at Alexis’s suggestion, it was transformed into the hernia game, which involved walking around with a briefcase and chanting, “Hernia! Hernia! Hernia!” Her mother was a doctor. I have to assume that’s where the medical vocabulary came from.)
Anyway, she’s marrying a nice guy. Also, the wedding photographer was total eye-candy, so during the boring parts of the whole event I would just gaze at him. Actually, the ceremony was extremely brief; it was literally a procession (featuring the rather ubiquitous but catchy version of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, as sung by some Hawai’ian dude with a ukelele. I’m sure you’ve heard it), my mother reading a poem, and the vows. Then came the reception.
I first noticed the best man, Brad, when he gave his toast; he was a bit rambly and it didn’t quite all make sense, but I figured it was nerves, or maybe he’d gotten into the bar a bit early. Anyway, the whole eating and wedding cake portion of the evening went pretty uneventfully. Then the typically obnoxious wedding DJ queued up the traditional too-loud selection of overplayed pop songs, and people started to dance.
My mother loves to dance. She spent about twenty minutes discussing with the DJ exactly what she wanted him to play in order to get people on the dance floor. Two request cards were left at each table, each with a line to indicate a song and an artist. She wrote six songs on each. She pressed the rest of us to think up songs. Most of them were turned down, because the music had to be perfect to get people to dance. “That’s right,” I said, laughing, “This is a very important matter, Mom. If the dancing at the reception isn’t perfect, the marriage is going to fail.”
Typically, of course, the various men present don’t like to dance as much. She and her boyfriend, Rick, danced a couple times, but he obviously wasn’t nearly as interested as she was. And the best man apparently liked to dance. In fact, Brad and my mother spent probably half the evening dancing together. She seemed pretty flattered with the attention; it was fine with me, as I was thus off the hook. I figured it would be fine with Rick as well. But later in the evening I noticed him sitting off to the side and maybe even glowering a little. It seemed like Rick was getting a little jealous. Of what, I couldn’t imagine - the kid she was dancing with was half her age; it’s not like he was any threat.
So I was mildly puzzled by this until my father mentioned that he’d noticed Brad (the best man, remember?) had been spending a lot of time with her. In fact, apparently he’d spent a lot of time with her at the rehearsal dinner as well. Was this kid actually attempting to hit on my mother? And reportedly he had said something to someone at some point (I’m still not clear on this bit of fourth hand gossip) about how much he liked older women. I told him he was being silly, and that the kid was my age, and I’m sure he wasn’t actually pursuing my mother.
Okay, so this guy was apparently pretty taken with my mother. My mother, along with her sisters, is a Woman of a Certain Age, but nevertheless I have to acknowledge that all three of them are still pretty good-looking - they’re all in good shape, and none of them really looks her age. So it’s not impossible, obviously, that a younger man might be willing to pay her some attention. Still, though, the kid needed to realize that my mother was taken and certainly had no interest in him.
My mother and I were chatting a little later, and it turned out that Brad was quite the flirt - in fact, he had told her how much he liked older women! Clearly his intentions in dancing with her all night were not entirely pure. Nevertheless, my mother was obviously flattered with the attention and certainly she didn’t need anyone else to protect her honor. Still, at this point I was a bit less disposed to affection towards Brad.
Anyway, he ended up sitting down next to me and making small talk. He asked if I’d brought a girlfriend with me, and I said that I was single. He said something suggesting I was probably looking for someone at the wedding, and I laughed, given that most of the attendees were related to me and both the bridesmaids had brought boyfriends (not that I’m liable to hit on one of them anyway. But if the hottie photographer had happened to catch me in a dark corner, I wouldn’t have protested . . . .) Apparently a woman already having someone isn’t a major obstacle in Brad’s mind, though, since he mentioned how hot the Maid of Honor was (who was dancing with her boyfriend at the time.)
Then he mentioned how hot my aunt was. My aunt, sitting next to her husband. My aunt, the freaking mother of the bride. Like I said, my mom and her sisters are all still attractive - but they’re also twice his age and none of them are single. He said he’d like to “do” her. Then he said how hot one of the bridesmaid’s titties were. And something inside me snapped.
Maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve never really been initiated into heterosexual locker room culture. But I’m not very accustomed to hearing about women’s “titties”. And I’m really unaccustomed to hearing about how much some drunken little fuck would like to have sex with my aunt. And something macho rose up inside of me and took over my brain. And I told him, in a perfectly conversational voice, “You’re very close to getting your ass kicked.” Probably a minor deal to most of the guys reading this. But I’m very much not inclined to make threats of violence. Particularly not serious ones. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever done something like that before. But I meant it. I was ready to pummel this fucker. I might not be experienced with the manly art of the fistfight, but I had several inches of height and at least a couple dozen pounds advantage on the little shit. My threat was absolutely serious. Something primal happened to me, and I was all ready to beat the little fuck bloody for his crudeness. If I had to, I was going to reshape his face until he turned into a gentleman.
He backed down, though. Thankfully. I really wouldn’t want my cousin’s wedding to be remembered as “the wedding where Excalibre beat the crap out of the best man.” (Even worse, come to think of it, would be “The wedding where the best man beat the crap out of Excalibre.”) I just gave him a thin-lipped nod when he apologized (there, Conan the Barbarian is gone, I’m back to Miss Manners.) And I stepped out on the deck to smoke a cigarette and calm my nerves. Brad followed me, though. He apologized. Over and over. He told me he didn’t want to offend Alexis’s family. He begged me to forget it. He said he drank too much and was saying stupid things. I recommended he seriously examine his drinking habits. He apologized several more times. Finally, I said, “Fine, it’s forgotten” just to shut him up. He started trying to make small talk again. I wordlessly went back in to the party and ducked into the bathroom to piss.
Brad followed me into the bathroom. Apologizing. Continuously. He followed me into the bathroom to apologize to me while I took a piss. He even offered to let me hit him in revenge. I actually started to feel sorry for the kid - he’s clearly not the swiftest wildebeest on the Serengeti. But I was still really pissed off at hearing him talk about the female attendees like such an asshole. And for trying his best to get into my mother’s pants (as though he had a chance.) Finally I just said, “Dude, go away.” Eventually he actually did.
I apologized to my father for suggesting that his concerns were silly. I told him that I do not like Brad. I do not like him, Sam-I-Am. I was offended to my core, or at least to the adrenal glands apparently spewing testosterone, at this sleazy little fuck trying to get at my mother, and talking about my aunt that way, and frankly just for using the word “titties” at all. I’m a modern kind of guy, and I have no doubt that the women in my life have no need for me to defend their honor with violence. But some slightly more primitive portion of my brain is simply not going to tolerate little drunken shits being coarse towards ladies. Who knew I had this macho side willing to do violence just because some little punk said dishonorable things about women?
I still might kick his ass if I see him again. That way it won’t ruin the wedding.
