Dancing On Tender Toes

This weekend, the hubs and I had the pleasure of attending a dear friend's wedding.

When I say pleasure, I mean I wobbled around in brand new killer heels until my feet were nothing more than shredded bloody stumps all the while trying to fight off my husband's drunken amorous attempts to convince me to have sex in the coat room while every one else nibbled on wedding cake.

As he so thoughtfully pointed out in a slurred voice, it'll get me off my feet at the very least. How does one resist such romantic thoughtfulness?

In general, I hate weddings. Not my own of course, but at my own wedding I was almost five months pregnant and my husband treated me like a fragile princess, catering to my every whim and desire while a hundred people paid homage to my beauty and the great love Boo and I share.

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I was totally promising him a blowjob if he'd go buy me a cheeseburger.

At other peoples wedding, I am just some schlepp tottering about in shoes no woman has any business wearing while trying to remember to make sure her skirt isn't tucked into the back of her underwear after she goes to the bathroom.

My husband however, (bless him, he's a romantic sap,) loves weddings. He says he loves them because it reminds him of our great romance and makes him appreciate how blessed he is to have fallen in love with the most wonderful woman in the world.

I think he loves weddings because he knows he looks great in a suit and he can spend his time freely flirting with other women while feeling them up on the dance floor. It's a free pass to let his lecherous nature run rampant.

Either way, he's always the romantic dynamo of our duo while I quietly bitch about my feet, the food and that one broad who is obviously gunning for my man. Husband stealin' ho. Heh.

Because Boo and I have been married so long, we no longer feel the need to remain glued to one another's side as we mingle. This gives him the freedom to talk smack about his wife to the boys and make googly eyes at all the pretty ladies while I generally hide in the washroom or by the bar.

Circumstance and happen chance led us to the same place at the same time, where the bride was taking a quiet minute alone from her guests, absorbing her special day and probably freaking the fack out about hitching herself to one man for the rest of her life.

(Okay, that is totally just my editorial opinion. But it's my blog. Heh.)

The truth was, she was just then realizing she would no longer be the person she was the day before. Or at least, she would no longer carry the same name, the same identity. Now she was someone's wife, where before she had only ever been a girlfriend and a daddy's girl.

She was having trouble coming to terms with her new marital name. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was a nice name. Nothing like Humpadick or such. It just wasn't the name she held dear to her heart and wore like a comfortable pair of shoes her entire life.

Boo, being old fashioned and logical, (I hate that about him sometimes. Completely annoys me with his rationality,) was quick to hug his dear friend and told her she was still the same person and she would be quick to embrace her new name and her new identity. He explained that what she was feeling was normal and would pass and the greatest honor a woman could do for the man she loved was take his name.

The bride, glowing with radiant beauty already, perked up at this, smiled and looked at me and asked if I agreed. If I thought that was true.

(I have to tell you, in the milliseconds that she stood there looking at me, waiting for my response, I'd rather have been stripped naked, tied to the back of a horse and dragged through a field of thorny cacti.)

I blinked and felt blood rush to my cheeks as I gulped and avoided making eye contact with my husband.

"Um, I guess so, sure, why not," I prattled on while hoping that someone, anyone would interrupt us and whisk me off to the dance floor. No such luck. Not another soul in sight. Because that's the way life facking works. When you need a knight in shining armour they are all too busy getting plastered at the open bar to come and save you from awkward questions.

"How long did it take you to get used to having a new last name?" the bride innocently inquired as my husband stood there drilling holes into my head with his laser beam eyes.

"Uh, well you see," I uncomfortably stammered, "I uh, never did change my name."

"Oh." The bride looked at Boo, waiting for his response.

Boo of course, took it as an invitation to jump on his soap box and lecture me before a captive audience, verbally lashing at me for years of prancing around with my maiden name.

"Like I said earlier, it is a true honor for a wife to take her husband's name. It shows how much she loves him and blah blah blah." I may have tuned him out having had this same lecture tossed at me for the duration of our eleven years of marriage.

The bride, being a graceful and sensitive soul, sensed my discomfort and offered to go refill my drink. I tried to go with her but Boo reached out and grabbed my arm, yanking me back to his side and almost tearing off my limb in the process.

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Not really relevant to my story, but I liked the cartoon. Heh.

"Ow," I whined as I rubbed my arm.

"You once promised me you would change your name, Tanis. How long do I have to wait before that happens?"

I thought of being flip and snarky with him, but his big blue eyes stood looking at me, filled with curiosity and love and perhaps even a few flecks of disappointment. I decided to take another route. A more sincere route.

I stuck out my breasticles, batted my eyes and tried to look pathetic and torn. I hear men are suckers for that.

"I don't know Boo. But I said I will, and I mean it. I just need more time to get used to the idea."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Ya. Cuz eleven years is such a short time. Gimme a break."

Sensing this could quickly boil over into a full fledged argument, I leaned closer and breathed into his ear, "I will give you a break. But how 'bout I give you something else right now instead? Something a little more personal."

Boo is a smart man and knows when to shut up and smile. He smiled down at me and grinned.

And that's when I led him (like a horny little puppy dog) to the bar, shoved a beer in his hand and told him to drink up. Hopefully I could get him drunk enough to forget the whole damn thing. And I did. Heh.

Until the next wedding we have to attend.

I freaking hate weddings.

So peoples, chime in. Did you change your name? For my three male readers, did you expect your wives to change their name? I've decided to let the internets settle this argument and see who's right or wrong.

Everyone knows everything you read on the interweb is true.