After the rehearsal dinner and the rehearsal, Boys Night Out began.
The boys in questions were the Groom, the Groom's Dad, Me -- Best Man -- and Norbert, the Bride's brother, Dave, and Elmer, a friend of the Groom's Dad.
These are not party people.
The wild and crazy evening was spent bowling at the Christian Center in Peoria, Illinois. I'm pretty sure I was the first unrepentant Jew to ever set foot in the place.
During that evening of raucous hijinks I learned a few things:
1. These are not my people.
2. Even when they bowl a strike, Mormon Elder's don't smile. Which is funny, since everyone else seemed to smile entirely too much. Made me worry they were pod people planning to eat my spleen or something.
3. I was not meant to spend time in a place where the soda stand closes at 9:00 p.m.
I kind of wonder what would have happened if I had sat at the back of the lane and knit lace. I'm picturing Christian heads exploding left and right.
The two weddings have gone off with nary a hitch and my Best Man duties discharged to the best of my ability. Frequent meditation on my limitless love for Myfanwe allowed me to suppress every impulse to throw her mother in front of a moving truck. Not that she didn't deserve it. 134 times, if my count is correct. I resisted the urge -- though I still maintain that there is nothing wrong with Myfanwe's mother that a diuretic and a public whipping wouldn't cure.
I'm going to my happy place now.
Norbert, Myfanwe and I are looking forward to getting back home where any insanity is ours and is generally quieter and less drama-driven.
P.S. I've got to find a book of lace patterns -- I'll write more on the circumstances, but I suddenly have enough fine lace-weight merino/cashmere to knit a shawl for the Florida State Athletic Department. I was thinking Arctic Lace. Any suggestions?