By Sean Molina
The wedding was abruptly postponed and now the bridal suite at the country club was a hive of activity. Inside, the bride, her bridesmaids, and the future mother-in-law were locked away, their voices hushed. Occasionally, the maid of honor would slip out to console the groom, who was visibly distressed.
Downstairs, the groomsmen had taken over the bar—laughter and chatter filling the lobby. The best man was assisting the “mixologist,” who didn’t mind the help and certainly relished the attention. Operation “Delay the Guests” turned into a casual cocktail party complete with hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. As the party continued, the groomsmen drifted outside near the golf course, drawn by a sparkling pond coated in the sunlight’s sheen.
“I guarantee there’s fish in there.”
The subtle curiosity transformed into a full-blown wager to see who could catch a fish, if any. Within minutes, a couple of the men returned from the gas station with a rack of Yuengling and two kid-sized fishing poles with push-button reels—it was all they had. The first cast plopped a spinner through the glassy surface of the water, rippling the pond. A smallmouth strike lit up the group into a burst of laughter and surprise, dissipating the somber anxiety that clouded the groom. This success prompted several other well-dressed men to run to their trucks, retrieve properly-sized poles, and join the tournament.
The bride and her guests were gone, and the groom’s family and friends were celebrating the reincarnated bachelor. The whole party spilled outside, and the low roar of the crowd broke into obnoxious laughter. The pond was illuminated by a handful of headlights from vehicles strategically parked on the other side. The air was filled with cigars, negronis, jigs, crankbaits, and plastic worms.
What started out as a wedding turned into a fishing derby. The staff from the club rotated drinks and served cake. The cart girl parked the all-you-can-drink cart up front. The DJ moved his booth out to the party. The photographer exchanged her camera for a classic martini, and the wedding planner became the newfound bachelor’s plus-one.
The next morning, the party belonged to time—a fantastic memory that would forever tower even the greatest embellishments. The country club was given back to its members and the groom was free.
Editor’s note: Through a follow-up conversation we learned that the groom sold the ring intended for his almost ball-and-chain and bought himself a Tudor Pelagos. Strong move. If something in a man’s life is going to be right all the time it’s much better for that thing to be a watch and not a wife.
