First, let me start this story by printing a small exert from the speech biffle Michael gave at our wedding as the Man of Honor ...
"More often than she would admit, B's calm, gentle nature has aided in Bridget's feisty, trouble-making tendencies. This 'senior from Boston' has shot me too many looks to count that say, 'here she goes again.'"
A few nights later, we were in Aruba, setting empty shot glasses down on the bar in a crowd of other newlyweds. Present among this group of drinkers was one particularly loud couple from what I can only assume was east of Bumble, make a left at the fork, past the swamp, middle of nowhere, squeal like a piggy, my biggest nightmare Virginia.
Rewind one hour. B and I slid up to the bar and ordered two beers, when we caught the eye of a cute little blonde with the biggest boobs I've ever seen. She stumbled over to us, grabbed me by the shoulders, and was all, "WELL AIN'T YOU JUST GOT THE PRETTIEST TEETH AH HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LAF? Ah would know. Ah'm a dental hygienist." And because I'm just about as shallow as a shot glass, I instantly liked her.
She called her husband over, who immediately launched into stories of his most recent bear hunting adventures. I shit you not. Dude. Hunts. Bears. Unless you count the particularly hairy men on the beaches of New Jersey, the only bears I've ever seen in my life have been safely enclosed in pens at the Philadelphia Zoo.
"YA'LL EVER TAKE YOUR COON HOUND BEAR HUNTIN'? AIN'T NOTHING COON HOUNDS LIKE MORE 'AN HUNTIN' BEAR. MAH HOUNDS GET ON THEY SCENT AND THEY AFTER THESE BIG OL' BEARS AND WHOO-EY THEY GOT THEM CLAWS THAT CAN RIP YOU TO SHREDS, MAH FRIEND. AND SO THEY TEAR UP MAH DOGS GOOD AN I GOTTA TAKE EM ALL HOME AND STAPLE EM UP AND THEN THE NEXT WEEKEND WE OFF HUNTIN' BEARS AGAIN CAUSE AIN'T NOTHING COON HOUNDS LIKE MORE 'AN HUNTIN' BEAR."
And then, because talking about hunting bears obviously gets one all worked up, he took of his shirt. In the middle of the bar. Oh an also, bear hunters only speak in capital letters. They're loud. Like bears. I'm surprised you didn't know this. You must have never found yourself cornered by a shirtless bear hunter in a bar.
Fast forward. Me, B, Grizzly Adams, Grizzly Adam's wife, and two other honeymooning couples have just finished our third round of shots of "Southern Hospitality" graciously provided by Grizzles and his wife, when Grizz turns to me and one other new husband. "YA'LL WANNA HEAR A FUNNY STORY?" Yes, obviously, there is probably nothing more in the world I enjoy hearing than funny stories. I could sit and drink and listen to funny stories all night.
So he's all "SO AHM AT THIS PARTY WITH MAH FRIEND AND THESE TWO F*****S COME IN AND -" so then I'm all "Woah, woah, woah, WOAH. NUMERO UNO: not that there's anything wrong with that. AND B: DON'T use that word in my presence, pah-lease."
[Editorial note: there is not much in this sweet, delicious world that offends me, but the use of that word, in any sense, makes my blood boil like a bucket of lard on a hot day.]
So Gizz-man stops, looks at me blankly for a good three seconds, while the other husband squirms a little bit in his seat. And Adams continues his story. "ANYWAY, AS AH WAS SAYIN'. AHM AT THIS PARTY WHEN THESE F*****S -" So again, I'm all, "DUDE. I asked you not to use that word. It's IGNORANT. And HATEFUL. And what's your problem anyway?"
At this point, B is halfway across the room, lost in conversation with Grizzly Wife, and no doubt, her voluptuous boobies. And I, apparently, have just pissed off the still shirtless bear hunter. Other husband is clearly looking for the exit while Grizzly gets even louder,"WHAT YOU MEAN WHAT'S MAH PROBLEM? WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? AHM TELLIN' A STORY." And I'm all, "FINE, TELL YOUR STORY." And he's all "SO THESE TWO F*****S-" And that's where the story ended because I put down my beer, wound up, and slapped the dude as hard as I could across his stupid bear-huntin' face.
And it just so happens that this very moment, when hand and fleshy cheek met, that B and She-Grizz happened to look over from across the bar.
"What the HEYALL?" She shot up from her chair as B was all, "Oh, CHRIST, hold on, I'll handle her. It's okay." Because he assumed -- as most people would -- that the Wife of Bear Hunter was out to "git" me after watching me slap her husband across the face.
She stormed up to us and as I turned, ready with an explanation, she pulled back and slapped him too. Hard. And then she was all, "WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN' NOW?" all up in his twice-slapped face, before promptly running from the bar in tears.
Grizzly Adams was not pleased.
Because then he was all, "WHAT IN THE HEYALL IS SHE SLAPPIN' ME FOR? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER? AH GOT A GOOD MIND-" And then I'm all, "HE USED THE F WORD. I TOLD HIM TO STOP. HE WOULDN'T STOP. HE'S IGNORANT. I'M GONNA SLAP HIM AGAIN." And then things were getting a little chaotic, so B grabbed my flailing arm and pulled me behind him as he and the bear hunter squared off, nose to nose, both trying to yell louder than the other.
This is the part that I assumed B was going to knee him in the balls and run away because HOW THE FECK DO YOU FIGHT A SHIRTLESS BEAR HUNTER? This is also the part -- thank Dog above -- that the bartenders intervened and sent Grizzy Wizz on his not-so-merry way.
Yeah, so that happened. But this night, which ended up being one of the more memorable nights of the honeymoon, was far from over. We just don't need to get into all those pukey details here. Like, for example, the part when I stood up, proclaimed that I had been drugged, and demanded to be escorted home. And the part when I puked in the bushes. Oh, and also that part where I fell asleep on the bathroom floor. And that part when I danced down the hotel hallway real sexy like in my new lingerie. Cause it's just not a good night until you give your geriatric neighbors a front row ticket to the tush show. Yes, my friends, it was quite a night.