With a weekend come and gone, it’s likely that a wedding has taken place during these solstice months of summer. And indeed, a wedding happened to be in our neck of the woods, and we went. Technically, we weren’t wedding crashers, as we were fully invited. I have the invitation on our fridge to prove it. However, there certainly was a wedding crasher present…in spirit. Dun Dun Dun.
Our dear friends Zach and Sarah got married in an old historic house here in the South. It goes by the title, ‘The Castle’, and was used as a hospital during the Civil War. The point is this, it’s known to be haunted by, wait for it, wait for it….a midget ghost. Don’t blink so much, you definitely read that right. So, of course we climbed over the roped off staircase and explored the upstairs, where he is known to live. Even with the lights off, and darkness set in, we didn’t see him. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely found relief in his absence. So, we danced in his room and called it a night.
Regardless, attending their wedding made me think of my own. And the legit wedding crashers that showed up to mine. But, I enlisted my mother’s help to tell the story, as she just does a better job of it than I do. You’ll want to read this, it’s hysterical.
Hi ya’ll…I’m Lynn, Amy’s mom. Amy asked me to share a little snippit about an incident that took place the night she and Hunter got married - which of course she knew nothing about because they were on their way to their honeymoon. The aftermath, I guess you would call it – the math that happened after the wedding. This is one of those stories you try your level best to share but in the end find yourself muttering under your breath “I guess you just had to be there”. Yep. It’s one of those. I will do the best I can.
I was jerked out of a deep sleep to the sound of my dad in a ‘try not to hurt yourself getting out of bed but hurry up’ kind of voice accompanied by a loud (but gentle, of course) knock on the bedroom door.
“Lynn? Uh, ya’ll might want to come downstairs…” His voice trailed off down the stairs.
Amy’s dad went after a flashlight and I took off after my dad. My feet hit slick stairs, no time for lights. #@*! Why am I wearing socks?? Oh. yeah. I had cranked up the AC so I could light the fireplace and I must have forgotten to turn it back down, hence cold feet, hence socks (a few of us were too keyed up after all of the wedding excitement so we lingered by the fire to mellow out a bit before heading off to bed). At some point, however, I had the presence of mind to dig up a pair of socks. Yep. It’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt.
I hear glass shattering. What in the world? I round the bottom of stair landing, fighting with whether or not I had time to ditch the socks. I slide past the desk, catching the corner with my thigh. #@*! (my special word for ouch!, don’t worry about it). I hear more shattering, louder now. There seems to be a rhythm to it, a couple of seconds between shatterings. I finally catch up with dad as he locates switch …
Hold on for a second while I set up the scene a little bit for you. We had china, unwashed, stacked in crates and on tables in the car port area (for the readers who are not from the coastal region: living close to the beach, our house was elevated on several wooden pilings resembling large pillars to accommodate possible flooding from high tides and storms, providing a great area underneath we like to use for gatherings, parking the car, or whatever) leftover from wedding’s dinner, ready to be confiscated for pick-up the following day as per agreement with supplier.
“Would you like to purchase insurance ma’am?”
“Uhhmmm…I really don’t think that would be necessary…” I just could not imagine a scenario that would necessitate the extra spend-age. We were not Jewish so there would be no breaking of glass after ceremonial toasts, we weren’t serving alcohol and there were no tropical storms brewing on the horizon. No need. No need.
Okay. Back to story. Lights! Camera! (man, I wish I had a camera!)….
Another shattering CRASH! Instinctively I raised my hands to protect my head and upon hearing the now deafening CRASH!/SHATTER! my hands moved to cover my ears. WHAT?!
I could have never imagined the scene that is now playing out right in front of my eyes. I know my dad is watching it too, but I can’t take my eyes off what is going on to see his reaction.
There is a PARTY going down!
There are hairy little demons in black masks with long bushy tails on the tables, on the crates. They are licking plates, one at a time, with their hairy little tongues and then tossing them like Frisbees against the side of the house, onto the concrete. Lick. Lick. CRASH! SHATTER! Lick. Lick. CRASH! SHATTER! Raccoons. Everywhere. Forget about Davy Crockett. These are not your run of the mill ransack-last-nights-trash-because-someone-forgot-to-fasten-the-lid-down-kind of raccoons. What we are dealing with here are serious, bonafide par-tay animals.
Three or four of them are riding little Harleys doing figure 8’s under the tables sporting red do-raggs and cigars while their coonies up top are licking and CRASH!-ing to George Thorogood and the Destroyers’ Bad to The Bone…
“……..I broke a thousand [plates] (Lick,lick. CRASH! )before I met you (Lick. CRASH!)
I’ll break a thousand more Baby (Lick,lick CRASH!) before I’m thru……B-B-B-Bad! Bad to the bone….”
Okay I made that last part up. But do you see how things can just get out of hand?
If you have a choice get the insurance.