WHEN I WAS A GROOM
A couple of years ago, back in '97, I showed up to marry some chick I met the night before while working as a Chippendales dancer at some sleazy club downtown. As she continued stuffing dollar bills down my g-string, I got down on all fours and mustered up the courage to ask her to marry me. We hit it off that night and set a date to get married the very next day. I showed up an extra five minutes early the next morning wearing a tuxedo I had previously rented to audition for a role in an upcoming James Bond movie that I would later have to turn down due to a scheduling conflict with the Chippendales tour. Sadly, I could not get in touch with the girl I had just proposed to a few hours earlier. I waited around for the better part of three minutes until I finally decided I had once again been stood up. Just as I was about to give up hope, some girl dressed up as a bride for Halloween had stumbled through to relieve herself in the bushes near where I was parked. Since I was already wearing a tuxedo, she asked me if I would like to go to a Halloween party as her groom. I was reluctant at first, having just met her moments ago peeing on the Japanese boxwoods. Eventually I said yes and then later that afternoon, "I do". We took a few photographs together and shared a case or two of champagne. We later made out in the back of my car, then drove through Taco Bell to share a cup of pintos and cheese before heading back to my place at my parents' house.
The next morning I woke up to what sounded like a very large bear snoring ferociously. It was the girl in the bride costume. She hadn't escaped! I sat and admired her cute face as she slumbered on the floor of my parents' garden shed. Before she could change her mind, I loaded her back up in my '73 Ford Pinto and drove straight to the airport. I booked us on the next flight to Europe, where we would honeymoon together for the next few days. She wouldn't know anyone else there and would have to depend solely on me to take care of her. Perhaps I could trick her into falling in love with me. Turns out she ended up sleeping most of that trip, but I managed to see a few of the famous sights for myself. There were a couple occasions where I propped her up next to me for a photo op. You can't really tell that she's sleeping unless you zoom in. When we returned from our trip, she had no memory of the time spent there in Europe. But I had plenty of photos to prove she was there, and I was able to convince her that she had a blast.
Before long, we had bought a house together where she would launder my clothes and neatly hang my Chippendales thong's on a clothesline in our backyard. When the kids came along, we put up a swing set where my work uniforms used to catch the summer breeze like a windsock on an airport runway. I have since given up the glitz and glamour of dancing at bachelorette parties. I now work days as an instructor over at the senior citizens' center teaching pole dancing to vigorous elderly women. My wife eagerly awaits my return each and every day down by the mailbox at the end of our long driveway and races back towards the house as I drive along beside her. I can't believe it has been 23 years since we first said our "I do's" standing amongst the pungent Japanese boxwoods near that Old Mill. She still denies ever agreeing to marry me, but there's no denying the love we have for each other.
Happy anniversary to my best friend. Thanks for putting up with me all these years.
I love you Amerikkus!
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