Wedding Showers Bring May Fl…Wait, That Doesn’t Work.

22 May

It’s 11:37 am. My sister-in-law stops by to help decorate for my cousin’s wedding shower, which is being held at my house. I’m just now waking up. Nights are hard for me (Silk, cigar smoke, laughter then silence) [Editor’s Note: What? What was that?].

“Morning, I belch from my still-dry throat.” I say.

“Kyle, you’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing? I ask,” I ask.

“That thing where, when you’re getting ready to blog, you start doing it vocally. Nobody’s writing this down. You’re going to need to go to your computer.

I wave a tired hand at her and sit at the table to eat. “I wave a tired hand at her then sit down at the kitchen table to eat some bacon and gegs,” I say.

“You misspelled ‘eggs’,” she says. “You spelled it ‘gegs’.”

“Oh, so I did. ‘Eggs’ then.” I smile at her, adjust my underwear, and then eat my bacon and eggs.

The guests are arriving in little over an hour. That means I have just under an hour to put off getting ready so that I can look super busy when everybody gets here. I lay back down in my bed for forty-five minutes.

The vegetable and sandwich trays are arranged neatly on a table in the living room. As soon as everyone has their plates, I lift my glass and call attention to myself. Everyone raises their glasses, expecting a toast.

Smiling, I survey the room, quietly beaming over my family and friends. “Friends,” I look to my friend Kevin. “Family,” I turn and smile lovingly at my mother. “People whom I do not recognize,” I look at some guy in jorts that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. “People whom I don’t think anyone recognizes,” I smile to an unkempt gentleman in a ratty brown jacket and filthy pants who has clearly wandered in off the street. “Please, if you will, do not eat in the living room. It’s classless, and you’re getting crumbs on the hardwood.” The air is let out of the room. “You’re making all the cats uncomfortable with your crumbs.” A cat sitting in the corner of the room, until this point unnoticed, licks itself indifferently. With hardly a murmur of protest, all thirty-five people in attendance shuffle slowly into the kitchen. The newly-filled room looks like a crowded subway car and smells just as bad.

After everyone is done eating, it’s present time. All the presents suck. Nobody gets the couple a Playstation or a hot girl. I try to improve the presents in the same way I improve almost any situation: by closing my eyes, drinking a tremendous amount of whiskey, and then opening them. With my new, whiskey-eyes, all pie pans are born again. Word-of-the-day calendars morph into great monuments to the English language, all made new with the turn of a page. China sets once bland and incapable of stirring much of any reaction become radiant trinkets of timeless worth. I stand still, mouth slightly agape–awestruck and dumb. And drunk as shit.

I reach my hand out to a set of pens which, not surprisingly, is a bad gift whether you’re drunk or sober.

“Who got them these?” I ask, holding up the pens. My eyes are glassy.

Sheepishly, a man at the back of the room stands. “I got them for them.”

“You got them for them?” I ask. “What an ugly sentence. Re-write.”

“Oh no,” my sister in-law whispers to a woman at her side, “He’s fallen into a mental blogging state again.”

“What? What do you want me to change?” The man asks, a thin layer of sweat giving his skin the appearance of wax.

“That sentence. You say ‘them for them’. Say something different. Re-write. Style. Word choice.”

“Um, all right. I uh, I got them the pen set?”

“Incorrect. Delete question mark. Re-write. Consistency of meaning.”

“I got them a pen set.”

“Awesome. Save draft; go back to porn.”

“Oh god,” my sister in-law says, now speaking at full volume.

“Click ‘Guy Hard 2: Guy’s Harder.’ Find out that it’s gay porn. Wince. Ex out.”

“Kyle! Kyle! Snap out of it!” My sister in-law is now inches from my face, clapping and snapping. Her eyes dart throughout the room, mortified and embarrassed. Several members of the party begin to openly express disgust.

“Get confused. Ask self: ‘Was Die Hard 2 gay too?’ Watch Die Hard 2 to make sure.”

My sister in-law gets a cup of water and splashes it in my face to no avail.

“Begin to gain clarity, but then immediately fall back into confusion when a naked terrorist is shown doing exercises in a poorly-lit hotel room.”

“Okay, why don’t we all go outside for a bit? He’s just having a spell.” My sister in-law guides everyone to the back porch.

“Get bored. Put in Die Hard. That’s better.”

I stand there like a statue for the next 90 minutes as the film Die Hard runs in my head. There’s no gay sex in it.

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One Response to “Wedding Showers Bring May Fl…Wait, That Doesn’t Work.”

  1. greenchikin May 25, 2010 at 8:00 am #

    Thoroughly enjoyable read. Very nice, Gunslinger!

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