Love, loyalty and the ice luge

Summer wedding number 3 (of 5) was this weekend in Long Island. Obviously I forgot a camera because let’s look at who we’re dealing with here. On the average morning of getting ready for work, I can find neither my keys nor my sunglasses and am usually wearing two different shoes. Sometimes I sit down with my cereal and a magazine and after a while realize it’s not the weekend and I really need to stop reading about the most recent attempt at a Guns n Roses reunion tour and go to work.
The wedding was on a Sunday and, though it was beautiful, I have to say that the reality of having to go to work the next day somewhat curbed the potential madness. Not enough for me to say no to the ice luge and a couple of tequila shots, but enough to leave by 11pm and be home in the city by midnight. Sunday weddings are tough for a lot of people, apparently, because some of the chairs emptied before dinner was even served.
We didn't know a lot of people there, but quickly made the kind of friends one can only make around an ice luge. At one point I offered to switch dates with this big guy named Al because his seat didn’t have freezing air blowing directly on it. The wedding people were trying to cool the entire room of 300 by turning one table--mine--into another ice sculpture. Something in my desperation must have appealed to Al, because on his way out he grabbed Rob and said "marry her" and I'm pretty certain he was talking about me. Do you see how this happens, people? It's bizarre.