Wedding Glasses


We recently attended the wedding of a dear friend. Okay, so we missed most of the ceremony coming from out of town and with kids, but we caught the vows and isle exit. It was a beautiful day for an outdoor wedding and the reception hall was just as lovely. Everyone filed in to the hall to enjoy visiting during a cocktail hour preceding the supper as most wedding celebrations go.

The head table was seated and the guests were called to their tables as the meal was about to be served. It wasn’t too long after that some idiot had to start the glass clinking. Yes, I called the unknown party an idiot. The glass clinking tradition is one of my top three pet peeves.

A fresh off the alter couple has set forth a wonderful celebration of their day and offered each of their guests a very nice meal and in turn are expected to set down their forks and kiss at the clink of a glass as their steak and potatoes get cold. Drives me nuts! For Heaven’s sake let them eat!

We didn’t have a head table at our wedding reception.

One, because I don’t like to be the center of attention (especially when I’m eating pulled pork and corn on the cob).

Two, speech- I don’t like talking in front of more than three people at a time  (I stumble over my words). We skipped the speech portion, the maid of honor knew too many stories and so did the best man, my siblings are about as excited to talk in front of a crowd as I. Instead Mike and I played the roll of annoying server (without delivering food) and walked around visiting with the guests as they tried to eat instead.

And three… the dreaded glass clinking. Aside from letting our meal get cold, standing up in front of a crowd to kiss is not my idea of a good time. In fact we had no glassware or silverware at the meal. The state park at which we held the reception was a “dry” park. We were not allowed to serve alcohol so the only glassware that was there was that that came from coolers smuggled in, at which the park attendants kindly turned a blind eye to. We went with a simple picnic type menu; the previously mentioned corn on the cob and pulled pork sandwich, so “fancy” paper plates and plasticware was fitting. No clink-able table settings! Even if someone got the bright idea to knock a couple beer bottles together, Mike and I didn’t usually know where the other was visiting.

Yes, that is how much the clinking of glasses drives me crazy!

At our friends wedding, the bride kindly announced that if you clink your glass you must come up front and tell a story (with a microphone) about the bride and/or groom. This was a great idea! and it cut the clinking down considerably. Stories and well wishes were shared and for whatever reason Mike and I thought it would be funny to tell a story too. Beyond that I don’t know what I was thinking! Maybe it was due to our extremely crabby and tired children that I just needed a few minutes away from the table, I don’t know.

Without any intention of clinking a glass I made my way up front to do something that I usually need to be drinking to accomplish or out of my mind (I wasn’t drinking that night…). I told the bride I had a story to share and a groomsman piped up that I needed to clink a glass. “I don’t clink glasses.” He gladly assumed the task. By the time I got the microphone in my hand, I all of a sudden realized just what I was doing. I’m not partying like the old days (the pre-mama era)! I don’t talk in front of people! If I had something to say I should have taken time and wrote it down to read word for word (most likely reading like a scared kindergartener). Writing is still my most preferred method of communication. I took the microphone in hand and stumbled out a quick story about the groom, Tom, and my husband in their earlier years.

It was okay… I think… I think I blacked out a bit when I saw all the people in front of me.

When I made it back to the safety of my chair in the back corner, Mike was laughing. “I should have just wrote something first.” I said, still not sure exactly how the story came out. I was quickly distracted back to the “mama role” as the Little Miss in her overtired state started stealing things out of a neighboring diaper bag. The race was on again.

Now, I know this has nothing to do with the farm so my far fetched attempt to tie the two together will go something like this:

We have a cook stove in our living room across from the couch. Years ago, Mike and Tom were roommates and had a couch in the kitchen across from the stove. We currently keep our spoons in a drawer in the kitchen. One morning, years ago (after a party), they woke up “spooning” on the couch across from the silverware drawer. This was one of the first stories I was told when visiting Tom at their old place. Apparently there is photo evidence to prove who was there first but so far no one has been able to find it.

With that, I hope to never stand up and speak in front of a crowd again. And to the one whom I called an idiot, I apologize.

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