So obviously, I said yes. But the story is ever so much fun to tell, and I am really tempted to tell this story as a toast to my new husband on our wedding day, but not sure if that would be crossing the line. I mean really, he’s got it coming, but do I want to spend the first moments of our marriage torturing him?
Rewind to three weeks before the YES. My guy tells me that he’s going to a batchelor party on the upcoming weekend and that strippers have been completely outlawed by the future bride to be of our friend. I’m on the fence about the whole stripper/batchelor party thing. It doesn’t really bother me when it’s a man who wouldn’t go to titty bars otherwise. I always try to work in a “titty” into my posts. Anyhoo, my guy tells me that the party will be a bbq at his friend’s house with all the guys. Great, I say, go forth and party.
On the evening of the party, I invite some friends over for some drinks. I get a phone call from my guy around 10:30 who is obviously drunk as a skunk asking me if we want to go for a ride in the limo with him and the guys. I pass because we are having a good time on our own. I ask who has paid for the limo, and he tells me that the father of the groom paid for it. How. Nice. I go to bed around 1am, and apparently the limo drops off my guy at 5:30 in the morning. He sleeps alllllll day. I mean all day. He wakes up around dinner time.
The next weekend is the wedding. As my guy is an usher, we go to the rehearsal dinner. While I am standing in a circle of strangers talking to the bride, I mention that it was so nice of her FFIL to pay for the limo at the party. The bride and all of her friends uncomfortably stare at me as if I just said the stooopidest thing ever. Well it turns out later that it was stupid because the bride-to be-pulls me aside and says, “I was under the impression that Aaron paid for the limo. I thought you knew.” There goes my jaw. And my bladder. And my humility…out there on display. Suddenly I realize that everyone has been REALLY nice to me tonight. They probably think that I’m either a really cool girl for not putting up a fuss over the limo or a really stupid girl for not knowing what her fiance does. Turns out, I’m the later.
Out in the parking lot on the way home, I point blank ask my FI who paid for the limo. He confesses. I ask him why he lied, and he doesn’t really have a good reason. I point out that he just made me feel stupid in public in front of strangers. He feels bad, yadda yadda yadda. Whatev. We go to bed.
Next morning: I start to wonder how much this limo cost. At this point of our relationship, I should point out, we are living together, we need a new roof, and I want to be engaged. He refuses to tell me. OH NOW I NEED TO KNOW, BUDDY. Thinking that it was around $300, I overshoot it and say, “$500?” Him, “Higher.” Me, “$700? $1000? $1500?” Eventually, him, “It was $1700.” Bomb. Explosion. Silence. I don’t know what to say. I went in the house and sat in the shower for an hour because I knew I could be alone there. He left. And I decided to go for a run to clear out my head before I call the movers to help me pack my things.
Okay I’m gonna go ahead and leave this as a cliffhanger. Aren’t I clever to trick you into coming back tomorrow to get the rest of the story? Really it’s because I need to get in the shower now and go to work. I hate work. Come back tomorrow for the dramatic conclusion!