They were CONES

"You are the worst wedding singer in the world, buddy!"
"Sir, one more outburst from you and I will strangle you with my microphone wire."




Look closely at this picture. Do you notice anything about it, other than a delicious little flower centerpiece and the chocolate-dipped fortune cookies?

Behold, TABLE 9. Ringing any bells? Visions of mullet-headed Robbie Hart should be flashing through your mind right now. Along with a far better rendition of Love Stinks; depressing with a hint of violence.
"Now let's cut the stupid cake because I know the fat guy's gonna have a heart attack if we don't eat again soon... And while we do that here's a little mood music for you."


Remember those guys at Table 9? The ones he included in the I-am-a-love-reject group? I believe they were referred to as MUTANTS. Which is pretty much what we felt like for a part of the evening. The wedding table of single women, where the waiters "pretended" to forget to bring us our food and fill up our waters; where the heating mushroom thing never turned on; where the wedding singers graced every other table with their presence, but one. One table. One, the loneliest number. Each of us alone. Together. At TABLE 9.


We decided that perhaps Table 9 was just not the place for us after all, so after our stomachs were full and our eyes not yet dry from Chad's speech, we patronized the photobooth. Which provided just what we needed: attention. We also received some attention from Mr. Freaky-photobooth-owner, who glowered at us every time we went to snap some more freebees. And more. And more.
And then cake. And oh just a wee bit more cake. And then WAIT JUST A SECOND. We are NOT girls who eat their feelings. And Photobooth shouldn't be the only thing here getting free shots of us. That is a service we can provide all men. So we did what we do best: DANCE.

That's right. When the dance floor was empty, S, L, myself and new-bff-Karen got DOWN on the hard wood. And boy did those wedding singers love us! Who wouldn't, really. We were practically intoxicated with the love that was in the air. And before we knew it there was a crowd, including the wedding singers and our very own Mr. and Mrs. Lau. Hair was let down, ties were removed (a salacious story you should ask me about sometime) and the pumps came off thankfully, since I had just hiked a mile in them the night before on some horror-movie-death-hike-road to a Halloween dance party.


All in all it was successful wedding. The bride didn't run out last minute, nothing caught fire, and no heads were broken. The cake was divine, the decor was classy, and the band was superb. Plus there was that couple... On the dance floor... With his tie... And lots of saucy gyrations... You get the idea. So I give this nuptial event a 9 out of 10. I can't in good conscience give it a full 10 because that requires a fine slice of masculinity to flirt with/throw myself at, and at least one embarrassing public remark made to the bride and groom. So in the almost words of Robbie Hart, "Whitney and Mike are newlyweds! Whoopee-dee-doo!"



Mr. & Mrs. Lau, if you read this, I actually had a great time at your rehearsal dinner and reception. Table 9 was actually awesome and I hope you enjoy the even awesomer pictures we put in your wedding book of ourselves. Just be thankful we spared you the one of cake in our teeth.