My sister caught the weathered bouquet at my fathers second wedding.
She smiled with glee as she proudly won the assortment of red and white
roses. The laughing sunlight perfectly reflected the ridiculous nature of the occasion.
My Dad was head over heels at the ripe old age of sixty-three. It was funny to see
him tumbling down and falling in love again and again.Thank god he had recovered
from his grief of losing our mother. His loving heart had found another to satisfy
his real need to be loved, he was unhappy otherwise.
On the other side of the dance floor I saw my younger sister fawning over her new
boyfriend. She was staring deep into this eyes, her head a buzz of serotonin and
dopamine. Of all the men she had brought home to meet the family this one took
the cake by a country mile. He reeked of garlic had a stupid crooked nose and worked
at some random sewage plant. In many ways he wasn't dissimilar to Homer Simpson
except infinitely more unlikeable. Thankfully he was slightly more intelligent than the Simpson patriarch, a lesser intellect than Homer in the family would be very hard to stomach. If you could imagine a skunk run over and served up on a plate of garlic
your almost halfway toward realising what the new boyfriend smelt like.
I despised the man but accepted him purely for my sisters sake. I couldn't bear
to see any of my family members unhappy so I always tried my best not to judge
what made them happy.
Even Dad's new bimbo of a wife had her good points all you had to do was block
out her gargantuan plastic tits. Dad sure was happy bless the old sod. In stark contrast
I was feeling a bit flat so I got up and stretched my rusty limbs out. Then I haphazardly
wandered over to the green punch bowl in my new pinstripe pants that coiled too tightly
around my legs like black snakes. I still couldn't quite bring myself to join a gym.
Mildly irritated and half-drunk the raucous sounds of the wedding really started
to grate on my nerves. Next thing you know the bloody folk band starts up, God I hated
Dad's taste in music. I imagined getting a mega-phone out and screaming at the
top of the lungs to play anything but what they were currently playing.
Somehow I managed to withhold the urge to kick the lead singer in the balls.
To steady my nerves I had a gulp of the formally non-alcoholic punch from an unused tumbler. I was glad I had spiked the punch even if it was a sin. A strong hint of white rum rippled through the fruit juice like a dangerous crocodile. I wanted to spice up the place and
get people feeling a bit naughty. I felt slightly bad for all the unwitting alcoholics who would unknowingly be drinking away their sobriety, but I couldn't please myself and everyone too. As fast as the guilt appeared it dissolved. I raced off to the dance-floor my spirits refreshed ready to dance with the rest of the family.
