Young Wine at the Wedding

So I got distracted. Who wouldn't. The woman next to me was throwing off some serious sex electricity. Never mind she was well along in the so-called "Family Way". I wasn't going there, you better believe. Not so much about her situation. Heck, bend her over, she'd be good to go. But she was married, and I have my scruples about things like that. 

Besides, her sexual buzz really got me amped up to make a serious move on the gal standing on my other side. A bridesmaid. Kinda like the gal in the photo, but not that far along in the merriment. 

What is it about weddings that fills a young man's head with fantasies about a hot one-nighter. Here you are, out of town for your cousin Vince's wedding. You got a nice room in the hotel, and it's just a few floors away. Nice set up for some naughty business. You know what I mean. No strings or loose ends. She knows you're jetting tomorrow. Maybe, even, she's counting on that too. Fall in love for 12 hours. Rack up a memory or some more.

And, those bridesmaid dresses. I never seen one that looked like it shouldn't come off as soon as possible. Or, that the low cut didn't just invite a warm exploring hand. And this one, I read that low cut number as a coy dare for me to thrust one hand assertively inside, while the other got a handful of that big plump tush. There were so many wedding guests milling around just then no one would notice if I pulled her close and tight and soul kissed her deeply until she melted in my arms and came. Yah, I was that hot. And, I'm talking about just for starters. There's an empty room upstairs waiting. Remember?

Weddings. Don't you just love a wedding? The party part, I mean. The ceremony and all the trappings. That's a girl thing. If you come across a guy who is dying to get married . . . Shoot him.

I mention I was distracted — clearly so, and understandably so given the foregoing — from my duty. It was expected at family functions someone would be the designated minder for Cousin Larry. Larry, let's just say, marched to a different drummer. Not exactly crazy. But enough of a lack of awareness or concern for fitting in with the social context that he could do some pretty crazy shit. 

So, while I was distracting myself with those two bomber babes, Larry goes and sits down way before the guests are invited to dine. The overly anxious caterer host takes Larry's faux pas as a signal, and immediately he invites all the guests to be seated. 

So far, so good. The bread rolls have already been served on little plates at each place setting. Larry takes his round roll and cuts it into quarters. Then he proceeds to plant it squarely on his nose, looking like some kind of a hick scarecrow porno chicken. Hick, because —  oh, I didn't mention, did I — Larry was a bit hard to handle. He didn't like to change wardrobe. Ever. His favorites, bib overalls.Except of course if he outgrew his overalls. So, as you might expect, Larry shows up for the wedding wearing his favoring but too tight, too small overalls; the sleeves and pants way too short. And, the porno part. As dumb as Cousin was, he was just as well . . . endowed. So, as you might expect, the snug outfit revealed quite a prodigious package down there. Talk about your mixed message. When Larry is at a wedding, it's a "Polish" wedding. He brings the kielbasa.

See what I mean:

I should add that Larry was just secretly mocking his brother, the bridegroom. Because Vince was prone to "brown nose" his bride's father. The Old Man was worth a piece of change and expected to be treated accordingly. Vince played along. A little too quickly from Larry's point of view. There's an old Polish phrase for that, it goes . . . [You're] "putting your nose in bread/dough." It's an old expression, maybe that's why no one took offense. But, Babcha read the meaning right away. She laughted, "That Larry. Smarter than he look!"

So there he is gotten up from the table and strutting about like the aforementioned hick porno scarecrow chicken. When he got to the bridal party's table he did a dance. A dance of tribute. A dance of fertility. A dance of well wishing and abundance. A dance of obvious unbridled sensuality. The bride blushed. If it had entered his empty head to whip it out, I'm sure he would have been happy to do so. Thankfully, it went differently. When the music stopped he tossed that bread beak at the newlyweds. His idea of rice, some would say. Imagine! And, it became a family tradition. By default.

Here's what ensued. Just like the guests were seated so hastily after Cousin Larry prematurely seated himself, the assembled guests all followed suit with Larry's other antics. So, with sleeves and cuffs rolled up, everyone put on a quarter piece of their bread roll, and danced wildly in front of the bride and groom. When the music stopped those pieces of bread went tossed at the young couple. No harm. You might even say that, yes in fact, that was a rousing gesture of wishes for abundance in every way. As they say, when everyone is crazy, that's normal. 

Some story. Huh? 

Another time . . . This one concerns toasting. In a way.

You know how it is tradition to take a eating utensil and tinkle it on the side of a glass during dinner? It's a signal that you want to make a toast. 

Toasts. It seems to be an expected ritual at weddings that someone or other will make a toast, particularly the embarrassing kind in which some past indiscretion(s) by either or both the bride and groom are recalled in explicit detail. Or, pointing out who among those gathered were done by or done two by those dewy newlyweds in former times. Hidden secrets might be revealed; illegitimate children, sexually transmitted diseases, gender modification. Come on! We've all been party to some of those. Say, Amen!

In his typically Polish style young Larry sits there during the wedding feast and starts banging on his plate. The party falls silent and all eyes are directed at said Larry. He looks back drawing a blank. His family handler on that particular occasion whispers in his ear that he's supposed to stand up and make a toast. It takes a short bit to sink in. Larry may act crazy, but he ain't stupid. Let's put it this way, he does have more sense than a mud fence. (So, Grandma. Shut the hell up!) 

He stands up without any idea of what to say for a toast. So he explains himself. He tells everyone that the custom at Polish weddings is to start banging on a plate. The assembled join in and the racket only stops when the bride and groom kiss. This goes on several time during the meal. Supposed to get them started on their honeymoon night. 

We this crowd wasn't buying it. They just stared him down. No surprise, after what Cousin pulled earlier that evening. Let's not go into that one. It makes everything else you've read so far rather tame by comparison. 

Here's a nice Polish Polka. Go nuts like Larry in the privacy of your own home.

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