October 22, 1999

So there I was, trying to choose between chocolate syrup or whipped topping when I decided to enjoy the best of both worlds. The odd thing was that these tasty treats weren’t being used to top my sundae, they were being tossed around in a church parking lot.

God bless the ushers.

An usher’s job is simple. Keep the bride happy. Make the groom nervous. Tell friends and family where to sit. Tell friends and family when to leave. Keep your clothes on at the reception. And don’t hit on anyone’s younger cousin. Especially if the younger cousin is in high school.

Oh yeah, and decorate the car.

Walt had to have been worried when he asked all of us to be his ushers. He warned us not to drink in the church, he told us we couldn’t cut out the seam in the butt of his tux, and he said that we shouldn’t touch the car they were riding in to the reception.

We laughed at the last directive as we bought supplies before the wedding, but when we saw the vehicle, we understood his concern.

It seems Walt’s grandpa wanted to help out in any way he could and since the grandmas were baking the wedding cake, the only thing left was the post-ceremony excursion.

I’ve been in weddings where the wedding party stopped at local taverns, and I’ve been there when each bridesmaid or groomsman had a personal bottle of champagne for the long haul to the reception.

But I’ve never seen the bride and groom hop into Grandpa’s Cadillac, crank up the Roy Orbison and cruise to the “YMCA.”

Don’t get me wrong, it was cool to see the family bonding, but with Grandpa Lou driving, we had to keep things rather tame.

We scattered Corn Flakes on the car, but left the peanut butter in the jar. We spelled out our best wishes in maple syrup, but decided not to cover the car in Saran Wrap. And the pictures we downloaded went back into Carl’s glove compartment.

After we finished, we weren’t completely satisfied with our mischief as we found ourselves with two bags of assorted nastiness left over. Luckily, Carl made a copy of the key to Walt’s apartment.

So there I was, thinking about the past few months of marital mania when I realized that Taylor and I have some of the craziest friends anyone could find, yet we somehow find a way to squeeze in a few moments of quality time.

The only tension came when folks would see us at these receptions and tell us how great we looked together and then they’d do that thing where they raise their eyebrows and nod. That’s a bad thing to see when you’re a young couple at a wedding. It means that somebody wants another fun weekend of dress-up at someone else’s expense.

Of course we’d just laugh and look at each other and — laugh again. Because it’s like this: I dig her and she digs me, but right now we have enough trouble finding a free weeknight to rent “Goonies” on our own, much less plan a future.

So needless to say, we’re not in a hurry.

However, it was ironic to check my e-mail Monday morning and get a note from a high school buddy of mine simply labeled “Tahoe.”

I shook my head and smirked and thought back to that weekend before high school graduation when we all signed a pact that said the first guy to get married celebrates his bachelor party at Lake Tahoe.

The catch was simple. If you’re the one getting married, it’s your responsibility to pay for everyone’s tasty beverages for the entire weekend. Originally, the unlucky groom-to-be was going to be required to get everyone there as well, but we decided to take it easy. Just the drinks.

We thought it would be a funny way to discourage the departure from bachelorhood. However, it’s starting to affect people’s lives.

One of the guys has been dating a girl for nearly a decade, yet he refuses to give in because he thinks someone else will crack.

Another guy made a quasi-proposal to his girlfriend by saying that as soon as one of the boys announces the big news, she’ll be the next to get a ring.

So when these e-mails start circulating about Tahoe, it means someone’s getting restless and wants to find out if anyone else is on the brink.

Right now it looks like there are two guys on the edge, and if one of them falls, there will likely be a flood of engagements the following week.

Regardless, I don’t have to worry. I’m nowhere near the point of shelling out the big bucks. And if by some quirk of nature I do become the first to take the plunge a few years down the road, then I’ll take the boys to Tahoe in style.

Heck, I may even ask Grandpa Lou to drive.