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The road of life may lead you in many directions and if you should ever find yourself down the beaten path and in a land you've never seen, you might be best to high tail it out of there. If you're a glutton for public humiliation, like me, then you might want to stick around.

A week ago I had the pleasure of accompanying Miss Karen Petrosky to the wedding of her sister. This was a fine chance for me to meet a nice bunch of family members and get a free dinner, as well as getting to spend some time with Karen. In addition, this would be the first wedding I have gone to in a decade: the marriage of my Uncle John to my Aunt Kathy. I'm going to deduce, from a few factors, that I was no more than six or seven years old when I attended that wedding, and it's all a blur from the drinks I had. I hear that I was actually dancing with a lampshade on my head by the end of that night.

I can honestly say that I don't remember much from that day, after all it was a long time ago. I do remember my uncle and aunt dressed up, and that they got married in a gazebo, but that's about all I got packed away in my head.

Now this story would be a lie if I didn't acknowledge a wedding that I once attended with Laura Longo in Port Republic a few years ago. You have to understand though, Laura had to work, so we didn't stay for the reception, and I did sit all alone during the wedding itself because I didn't know anyone there.

If you factor in all of the above, it's clear that I'm trying to convey that my previous wedding experience was very limited, if you wouldn't acknowledge completely nonexistent. This is all to prepare you for the awckwardness that I will share with you from my latest social engagement: the wedding of Mr. & Mrs. Mark Crull.

First off, I got to wear my suit. This was pretty good because you really have to be fat to look fat in a suit. Assuming your suit is crafter well, you can look very slim in one, but that's just my vanity speaking. Armed with my super-sexy look, I embarked down the hill of horror (a lame name I just bestowed on my daily walking grounds). Once at the wedding I was confused as to why we were all milling around instead of sitting down inside waiting. I didn't mind so much, and eventually we were seated by the Groomsmen(? SIDENOTE: I'm gonna be making up a WHOLE lot of wedding terms, so please bear with me and laugh at will-- I have to go to more weddings to get the hang of this stuff).

Now we'll cut to the end of the wedding, because I just accredited everything in the ceremony to tradition. Whether or not everything was done right, I have no clue, but that's surely not what I'm worried about. Then again, I'm not worried about anything. On the day of the wedding, I was quite worried and nervous, because, as comedian Brian Regan once said, "I'm just trying to go through life without looking stupid."

Now we can cut right to the chase here and we could explore the intricasies of my feeble mind. You'd love the intricasies, eh? Well I did run into the whole fork dilemma when the food came to the table, but I think I remember one etiquette thing on TV that said to start from the outside and work your way in with the forks and spoons. I was knocked way off track when I saw that a spoon was resting at the head of my plate. I decided that I wouldn't use that one at all.

Now Karen had to sit at the head table with the court, or whatever it's called, you know, all the hotshots at the wedding? Anyway, she sat there, so I was seated with the people that were related to the court, which I know is the wrong name... the bridal party? That can't be right... there's groom guys up there too. Who the hell knows? Bottom line: I was sitting with a guy who teaches swing lessons, and apparently didn't get the memo in '98 that swing was decidedly dead, again. Between his Brian Setzer impressions, I could hear small cries of a respectable human fighting to get out*. There was napkin qualms and seating errors to boot, but you don't care about all of that. You care about the meat and potatoes, huh?

Well the bouquet was thrown and Karen caught it. Now you need to follow me here, I know what the bouquet means. I got that--no problem. I had no idea that there was a connection with the garter, much less the entire process involving the two. So the garter comes off and I'm sent on the dance floor with a bunch of single guys who bring drinks and handfuls of stuff so they're unable to catch anything. One guy informed me that I was chosen from the bachelor committee to catch the garter. At this point in time I'm still unsure of what the implications are in catching the garter. The groom gave some wussy throws, but I finally got a hold of it and walked off. I had no idea that my job wasn't done.

I was sent back onto the dance floor by someone who told me I was needed for a picture. At this point Karen was seated, so I only naturally assumed that my position would be standing behind her, in a nice picture pose. I was immediately informed that I was supposed to be on the floor putting the garter on her. Confused and unable to make any decisions at all, I followed directions. As I put the garter on I was quite confused because people kept yelling for me to push it higher. I, being the modest type, realistically decided that with Karen's entire family watching, I wasn't going to be a big man-whore and feel her up, so I stopped at what I felt was a respectable height.

My sister later shared with me that the more inches over the knee means more good luck or something. I didn't know what the hell was going on, much less why. Needless to say there was a good chance that I was beet-red by the time I got off the floor, and Karen's grandparents were very nice to say I did alright, despite my obvious confusion.

The entire day and night was very fun and all, but I have to say that when I got to take off the jacket and loosen the tie, I had a good time-- of course that was on the drive to take Karen home. I would recommend that if you get a chance, go back in time and crash the wedding because it was a fun time. And if you didn't know anything about the garter stuff, now you do, so go to a wedding armed with this knowledge and look less stupid than I did. You'll thank me.

*I don't hate people who swing dance, just as long as they know it's a dance, not a way of life.