I couldn’t believe it was finally time to do this.  I am going to propose to the woman of my dreams who I thought I’d never see again after our one night in college.

The waitress is back and has served almost half the table their glasses of champagne.  I figure it's now or never.

I reach down and clasp Claire’s hand that rests on my thigh, bringing it up to my lips, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.

When she feels my lips on her hand, she turns to look at me.

“I love you so much, Claire,” I say softly as I see the waitress move closer and closer to us out of the corner of my eye.

“I love you too, Carter,” she replies with a smile.

The waitress only has two more people to serve before she gets to us.  I know I need to speed things up a bit if I want to time everything just right.

“Oh my gosh, wait until you hear what Jenny said to me earlier. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you,” Claire says as she leans in closer to me and glances over my shoulder to make sure Jenny isn’t listening.

I look behind me as well and see the waitress rounding the table, heading right for us.  I need to be down on my knee when she places Claire’s glass in front of her.

Shit!

“Claire, hold that thought.  I have something I need to say.”

She completely ignores me and turns sideways in her chair so she can face me and get closer.

“Wait, this is really good!  You’re going to love this,” she says excitedly as my foot starts bouncing frantically on the floor when I see the waitress stop right behind Claire to say something to Gavin.  “Okay, so Jenny said Drew’s been acting funny lately.  Talking about weddings and marriage proposals and asking her hypothetical questions like, ‘If I were to propose to you, what would you want me to say?’  Drew is so damn obvious.”

I look back at Claire, barely registering what she is saying and wondering if it's bad manners to tell her to shut the hell up right before I ask her to marry me.

“Huh?  What did you say?” I ask her as she continues to talk and I miss the last few sentences.

“I said Jenny thinks Drew is going to propose to her tonight.  Can you believe that shit?”

My head slowly turns to face her, my mouth falling open in shock, the waitress with the champagne long forgotten.

“Drew?  Propose?  Tonight?”

Fuckshitballdamn!

“I know, right?  First of all, they haven’t been together that long and second – who the hell proposes at someone else’s rehearsal dinner?  That’s in poor taste if you ask me.  You’re taking the spotlight off of the soon-to-be-married couple and putting it on you.  It’s like a slap in the face to them.  Like, ‘Oh hey, look at me!  I’m an asshole and want all eyes on me instead of the two people they should be on!  Ha ha, I’m such an asshole, who has a camera to document my assholeness for all of eternity?’” Claire says with a laugh and a shake of her head for the imaginary asshole in her mind.

Except I'm the asshole!  I'm the mother fucking asshole!

An arm slides between our bodies and in the haze of my asshole pity party, I realize there is a champagne glass attached to the end of it.  I literally feel my brain shutting down.  I hear a computerized voice in there counting backwards from five and feel like I'm in the movie “The Hurt Locker” and don’t know whether to cut the red or the blue wire.

The red or the blue??  THE RED OR THE MOTHER FUCKING BLUE?!

Claire reaches for her glass of champagne.

You know how people always talk about how during a moment of panic they feel like they’re in a dream and everything is in slow motion?  I have never experienced that before and always just assume they are full of shit and trying to make their story sound better.

Well, I'm right.

This shit isn’t moving in slow motion; it's moving faster than the speed of light, and I'm cutting the wrong wire and exploding into a complete jackass spaz.

My arm, as if completely detached from my body, flies away from its spot resting on the table, knocking over a lit candle, the salt shaker, my own glass of champagne, and two full water glasses until my hand grasps onto Claire’s champagne flute right before it touches her lips.

I yank the glass out of her hand, sloshing expensive champagne everywhere in the process.  In the back of my mind I could hear someone yelling, “Noooooooooo!” and am completely oblivious to the fact that the bat shit crazy screamer in the middle of Pier W is me.

Not even taking one second to think about my actions or the fact that everyone in the place is looking at me in horror, I quickly bring the glass to my lips, tip my head back, and dump everything into my mouth, including the ring.

Drew leans over and whispers in my ear when I slam the empty glass back down on the table. “Dude, are you changing the plan?  Because if the new plan is that you’re going to try and shit out that ring, I gotta tell ya, that’s not very romantic.”

13.  Tee Time

I’m going to cry.

I’m going to cry like a God dammed baby and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  It’s getting hard to swallow because my throat is so tight, and I’m starting to feel like I’m at a rave with a really bad strobe light because of the way I keep blinking my eyes to keep the tears at bay.

Son of a bitch, I’m going to ugly cry.  Some women can pull off crying without their make-up running or fluids leaking from every hole in their face but not me.  I’m in a gorgeous gown, my hair is professionally done, my make-up is flawless and in three seconds I’m going to ruin it all by losing complete control of the muscles in my face.  I’m going to try really hard to stay quiet which is going to fuck me over because it’s going to force me to make sounds that you only hear in the middle of the night on the Discovery Channel.  By the time I’m finished, I’m going to look like I have pink eye after being punched in the face by Mike Tyson.

This is all Liz’s fault.  Why does she have to look so beautiful?

We’re standing in the alcove at the back of the church, just seconds away from walking down the aisle.  The other bridesmaids have already left to meet their groomsmen at the front of the alter, the doors leading into the church closing behind them to keep the guests' first view of the bride a secret until the last minute.

Mrs. Gates is busy fluttering around Liz making last minute adjustments to the train of her dress and reminding her to smile, but not too much or the creases at the corners of her eyes will show in the pictures.  She’s standing up and squatting down over and over as she circles Liz, and I giggle-snort around the tears forming in my eyes since she reminds me of a horse on a merry-go-round.  I suddenly want to ask Liz if she has a riding crop I can borrow so I can whip her mother and make her go faster.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” I whisper to my best friend as we both ignore her mother reminding Liz to clench her butt cheeks as she walks.

“Me either,” she says with a smile through her own tears.

“I love Jim and I know you two will be so happy together,” I reassure her.  “But as your best friend, it is my duty to tell you that should you need it, my car is right outside, fully gassed with the keys in the ignition and a suitcase with vodka in it in the trunk.  I’ve also been keeping my pimp hand strong, just in case Jim gets out of line and needs a little bitch slap.”

She laughs and I lean in to give her a quick hug, careful to avoid tugging on her veil or messing up any part of her.  I do not need the wrath of Mary Gates raining down upon me.

“Thanks, BFF.  I love you.”

The sound of gagging and thumping interrupts our Hallmark card moment and we turned to see Jim’s little cousin Melissa in her flower girl dress straddling Gavin on the floor and trying to choke him.  Gavin flails and kicks beneath her, trying to dislodge her hands from around his neck.