The gift of stupidity


Michael McGuire

If you’ve ever been to a wedding, chances are you’ve given a standard wedding gift, right?

Cards, gift certificates, money, crock-pots, kitchen sets, etc.

Have you ever given a gift that keeps on giving?

I call them embarrassment bonds.

Many of those were offered at a great friend of mine’s wedding that I was in this past weekend.

For example, I left people forever with the image of myself dancing cheek-to-chest with the groom’s strapping father.

Our song: “Unchained Melody.” Our dance floor: made of clouds. Our moment: Indescribable. So are the pictures on Youtube. He’s already lost out on a huge promotion because of them and I’ll never be taken seriously on the net again.

It goes to show, an open bar and an open mind are not a good combo in the information age.

That wasn’t even the worst of it.

I thought it’d be a good idea to throw on some Axe Body Spray from the free amenities tray in the reception hall bathroom during a quick freshen-up. Turns out it wasn’t spray, but actually shave gel. I didn’t notice until after giving myself a thorough hosing. Good thing I had tuxedo insurance – and a good explanation.

“Your dad’s fiancé was so jealous because of our dance that she accosted me in the bathroom and doused me with Nivea shave gel,” I told my newlywed friend. “She was about to give me a swirly before DJ Dave came in and threw her off me. Real mature.”

So much drama. So little time.

Although I enjoyed it, this next scenario turned out to be the holiday fruit cake in my little gift basket:

The maid of honor and I are both huge horror fans. So as a gag, I made a mask out of a piece of prime rib off the buffet, revved up my Stihl saw, and chased her screaming throughout the reception pretending I was “Leatherface” from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. We wrecked a few tables, tweaked some pace makers and ruined a few dinners. In hindsight, doing that during the father daughter dance was probably in poor taste.

The people that matter all laughed.

I call those embarrassment bonds because the stories will only mature – get stupider and more over-the-top – with time.

Who remembers a bread maker?