Crashing a British Wedding
November 1st 2009 14:35
Halloween evening, I was with a group of students at Salomon's retreat Centre in southwest England. The same night, a wedding took place at the Centre. Of course, normally I would have been more than happy to while the night away with my friends, dancing and laughing at costumes...but this evening it simply wasn't proving all that satisfying. I went outside for a smoke, and met one of the groomsmen, Ryan, who was desperately trying to stay on his feet as he staggered outside for some mind-clearing fresh air. Under that wonderful flag of peace that all smokers are bound by, we struck up a conversation and talked of the parties, the wedding, and the wrath of Ryan's parents once they discovered how inebriated he was. As a member of the main wedding party, Ryan was privy to free drinks at the bar, and he suggested that I join him for some "refreshment", giving me access to the wedding party's bar tab. Although he left shortly after, the situation seemed too good to pass up. It was my chance to observe a British wedding reception, and the free alcohol didn't make the decision any harder. I spent the night chatting with various wedding guests, and quickly found myself on a first name basis with many members of both the bride's and groom's families. Another groomsman and I discussed the differences between American and English weddings, the most notable difference being that marriages could only take place at liscenced facilities (like the retreat center). After a few hours of small-talk, joking about the groom, and bandaging up two bridesmaids who were apparently discovering their alcohol tolerances for the first time, I felt like one of the family and was suitably prepared to take that final step that would solidfy my position in the wedding: I approached the dance floor. The songs were relatively familiar and were, more or less, what one would expect to hear at any party involving liquor and large groups of young adults. I tentatively stepped out onto the hardwood floor and began inobtrusively swaying back and forth with the music while I planned my next move. Unfortunately I had poorly estimated the hour, and the D.J. announced the last dance of the night. Frustration set in as I realized that I couldn't call this night a complete success, but it was all washed away as the bride took my hand and pulled me out to the center of the floor. We danced the last song together, and I concluded by telling her what a pleasure it was to dance, and she reciprocated with a compliment on my wondrous dancing skills (although, it seems only fair to point out that she was by no means the most sober person in the room and was likely not in any position to be accurately judging rythymic abilities). With that, the guests began to slowly file out of the building and into a literal fleet of taxicabs. I lingered outside fo a few more moments as I bid my new friends farewell and good-luck, and then proceeded back to my humble room. The evening had been a smashing success, and was one more eventful notch in my bedpost of culture.
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