A Wedding Story

One of my closest childhood friends got married this weekend and he made the decision to ask that I be in the wedding. I hate weddings normally but I said yes anyway. It was at the lovely Hillsboro Club on Hillsboro Beach. Fancy schmancy. Seriously... it was one of those places with a laundry list of rules, mostly requiring proper attire. No jeans. White-only clothing on the tennis courts. I gotta tell you... the "no jeans" clause just cut out half of the clothes I brought on the trip. The only really "proper" attire would be anything white and pastel and khaki.

The bride doubled as the wedding coordinator and it was very important that she had no less than 6 billion bridesmaids, all of them from the same genus and species: blonde, thin, cute, etc... Nice looking group. I brought my girlfriend with me on the trip and of course she was prettier than all of them. (She doesn't read this so I'm not just kissing butt!)

The first night featured a "polynesian luau" on the pool deck. Good times. It was organized by the groom's mom, who is a state senator. I waited until close to the end of the evening and got her to promise to name a rest stop on I-75 after me. It's on tape, too!