The two biggest tasks for Friday were to pick up the license and the tux. The license had to be sent back for a correction, since I was not, in fact, born in 2007, but otherwise the process was quick and painless.
It was not until we were walking out of the tux rental place, Alan and Jeff in tow, that I realized I had tagged along on what should have been a testosterone-filled coming-of-age male bonding experience. In fact, given the schedule, Friday afternoon was really Greg's last chance at any kind of bachelor party type event, and here I was, the wet blanket, ruining everything. By way of apology, I picked up the tab for lunch. I still feel bad about that.
Greg made another chocolate sauce before we packed up and moved to the Bradford, a very nice hotel just down the street, where we would be staying the next two nights. I immediately set the TV to the Weather Channel, since the reports for Saturday had been all over the place, and I wanted to know what to expect. The first report, the previous week, had been a 60% chance of rain, so we had 20 dollar-store umbrellas available, and Greg's parents had a tremendously elaborate rain plan. As the date neared, though, the forecast was getting better and better.
Next up, we showered, shaved, and headed out to the Welcome Party, the first official event of the wed-stravaganza. Hosted by Greg's parents at the very classy (and desirably located) Chatham Beach and Tennis Club, it had four different zones of activity. Out back, overlooking the tennis courts and the beach, groups of our friends and family talked and drank until the weather briefly turned on them. On the rear patio, a bartender served cranberry margaritas, as well as wine, beer, and sodas; at the other end, there was a beautiful cheese assortment. On the side patio, folks sat and ate while catching up and enjoying the view. Inside, there was a big pot of chowder on one wall, and an assortment of wrap sandwiches on another. Greg's mom had collected a variety of brochures and other travel information, which was displayed with the little one-page information sheet I'd thrown together for out of town guests, and Greg's dad (with some fiddling from Jeff) had assembled a video presentation of our early years, with photos I'd submitted, along with shots from Greg's newly-discovered baby book.
Throughout the evening, we were happy to see natural, comfortable interaction between people who had never met before that night. Madi's boyfriend, who knew no one but Madi, was trading pop culture references with Greg's friends from undergrad, while a friend of mine from work discoursed at length with one of Greg's uncles. That, I think, was the sign of a successful party.
Afterward, the three guys I'd roped into being ringers for the Pi Kappa Phi sweetheart song followed us back to Cedar Street to get the music, as well as unload all the wedding-day booze from Al's trunk. Unfortunately, we were a little too quick in getting there, since Greg and I didn't bring keys. We stacked the booze in front of the garage until someone let us in, then I fished out the music I'd transcribed for the song and handed it out to Tadd, Al, and Jake; on request, I sang through it once, too, before we scuttled off to the Bradford.
Pedometer count (since I have it): 8071
It was not until we were walking out of the tux rental place, Alan and Jeff in tow, that I realized I had tagged along on what should have been a testosterone-filled coming-of-age male bonding experience. In fact, given the schedule, Friday afternoon was really Greg's last chance at any kind of bachelor party type event, and here I was, the wet blanket, ruining everything. By way of apology, I picked up the tab for lunch. I still feel bad about that.
Greg made another chocolate sauce before we packed up and moved to the Bradford, a very nice hotel just down the street, where we would be staying the next two nights. I immediately set the TV to the Weather Channel, since the reports for Saturday had been all over the place, and I wanted to know what to expect. The first report, the previous week, had been a 60% chance of rain, so we had 20 dollar-store umbrellas available, and Greg's parents had a tremendously elaborate rain plan. As the date neared, though, the forecast was getting better and better.
Next up, we showered, shaved, and headed out to the Welcome Party, the first official event of the wed-stravaganza. Hosted by Greg's parents at the very classy (and desirably located) Chatham Beach and Tennis Club, it had four different zones of activity. Out back, overlooking the tennis courts and the beach, groups of our friends and family talked and drank until the weather briefly turned on them. On the rear patio, a bartender served cranberry margaritas, as well as wine, beer, and sodas; at the other end, there was a beautiful cheese assortment. On the side patio, folks sat and ate while catching up and enjoying the view. Inside, there was a big pot of chowder on one wall, and an assortment of wrap sandwiches on another. Greg's mom had collected a variety of brochures and other travel information, which was displayed with the little one-page information sheet I'd thrown together for out of town guests, and Greg's dad (with some fiddling from Jeff) had assembled a video presentation of our early years, with photos I'd submitted, along with shots from Greg's newly-discovered baby book.
Throughout the evening, we were happy to see natural, comfortable interaction between people who had never met before that night. Madi's boyfriend, who knew no one but Madi, was trading pop culture references with Greg's friends from undergrad, while a friend of mine from work discoursed at length with one of Greg's uncles. That, I think, was the sign of a successful party.
Afterward, the three guys I'd roped into being ringers for the Pi Kappa Phi sweetheart song followed us back to Cedar Street to get the music, as well as unload all the wedding-day booze from Al's trunk. Unfortunately, we were a little too quick in getting there, since Greg and I didn't bring keys. We stacked the booze in front of the garage until someone let us in, then I fished out the music I'd transcribed for the song and handed it out to Tadd, Al, and Jake; on request, I sang through it once, too, before we scuttled off to the Bradford.
Pedometer count (since I have it): 8071
Labels: wedding
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home