Wedding advice: bring flask, don’t stop dancing

Nov. 3, 2015

The bouquet sails through the air into a crowd of screaming women and girls. The entire scene plays out in slow motion, with shoulders jostling and arms about to burst from their sockets. I find myself amidst three other male onlookers, all of us with slightly lowered jaws.

Commentary by Ethan Caughey
Commentary by Ethan Caughey

There is a certain ferocity at weddings. For the bride and groom, their love is a fierce thing. The wedding was held at Crosspointe Community Church in Whitewater and the moment the two lovers locked eyes, their pupils didn’t wander or waver for a split second. Such ferocity in love is both a beautiful and an inspiring thing. I always end up spending most of the ceremony tuning out the pastor and wondering if I am capable of such raw emotion. Although, emotion seems almost like too weak of a word. The love that transpires and is exchanged between husband and wife becomes something beyond emotion. It becomes an unstoppable force with grace and truth pushing it ever onward. This kind of ferocity is juxtaposed with another kind of ferocity.

The reception was held at The Cove in Lake Geneva. Entrance seven leads to a staircase which leads to a short, awkward hallway which then leads to a mid-sized room with a bunch of tables, chairs, jars full of candy, decorations in the realm of hipster, and the only thing that really matters: the dance floor. I have two rules at weddings: Bring a flask and never stop dancing. The groom had about thirty cousins, all of whom were wearing a variation of the same dress, at least I think it was the same dress. Or maybe there were just a bunch of women who just happened to all wear similar looking clothes. I’m not good with women, nor am I good at playing spot the difference with fancy attire.

“My cousin has a crush on you.” I proceed to ask which one and she proceeds to giggle and scurry away. This is how the next three hours played out. Either one woman or groups of women wearing what I believe to be the exact same apparel approached me to tell me that their cousin had a crush on me. What this really means is that this cowardly cousin has a thing for man buns. I finally dance my way to the groom and try to get a coherent answer as to which cousin has a thing for man buns. He just shakes his head. I look around to meet the piercing eyes of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Dress. This is a stupid, lustful ferocity of which I will have no part.

Insert flask and keep dancing.

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