Hot Dog! My brother’s getting married.


Q: Who says romance is dead? A: The girl getting the face wash.

Getting married is a piece of cake. Only a few things need to fall in place for a relationship to turn into a “forever” type a thing. First, find a girl and fall in love with her. Next, propose. Then have a bachelor party. Everything else should work itself out.

My brother Michael took care of step one when he found his wife to be, a cute little girl with bad knees and a great sense of humor, an adorable face and erratic nocturnal behavior. Yes, erratic, not erotic … unless you think sleepwalking with knives is sexy.

She can be a bit shy, so when my brother told me he planned to propose on the Jumbo-Tron at an NBA game I thought to myself, “I wonder if he actually likes her?”

Brother: I talked to this guy with the Bucks. He says he can get the camera man to put me on the “Kiss Cam” at the end of the 3rd quarter, and I can take a knee and propose!

Me: To Lindsay? I thought she hated being the center of attention?

Brother: She does! This is going to be so awesome!

Me: Have you considered smashing a pie in her face right after?

Brother: I’d never be able to sneak a pie in and not have her notice.

Me: Good point. Maybe just a Coke over the head?

Brother: So you don’t think I should do it?

Me: I didn’t at first, but the more I think about it, you absolutely should. I’ll sit next to you and point and laugh. You’re right. This will be awesome.

Long story short, my brother arranged for it to happen but spoiled the surprise by leaving the ring out in plain view earlier in the afternoon. He spent the first three quarters of the game asking Lindsay to give him the ring back in order to reenact the scene for 16,ooo people at the game. She relented. I pointed and laughed. She said yes.

Michael: If only I had a pie this night would be perfect. Lindsay: Is this really the pinnacle of my love life?

All that remained was a bachelor party. We went to the Wisconsin Dells. (Think Las Vegas on estrogen mixed with a healthy dose of trash.)

The town’s claim to fame is water parks. We went to a strip club instead, a very classy establishment.

Young Lady “working” her way through college: You want a dance?

Bachelor: Uh, not really.

Young Lady: I’m going to stand here until you change you mind.

Bachelor: <silence>

Young Lady: <silence>

Bachelor: <silence>

Young Lady: Give me $40.

Bachelor: Okay.

*They retreat to a somewhat private room*

Young Lady: You smell like hot dogs.

Bachelor: What?

Young Lady: Were you eating hot dogs? You smell like hot dogs.

Bachelor: I bet you say that to all the boys.

Young Lady: Only the ones that smell like hot dogs.

Bachelor: I wasn’t eating hot dogs.

Young Lady: Maybe I just smell kielbasa. Is that what you were eating?

Bachelor: No, but would that have been better?

Young Lady: It’s probably your cologne.

Bachelor: Hot dog cologne? You’re pretty fun to talk to.

*2 songs later*

Bachelor: Let’s hit the road fellas. That was fun. Except that it wasn’t.

Group: How was your lapper?

Bachelor: Kind of weird. She told me I smelled like hot dogs.

Group: BWAAAHAHAHAHA! OK HOT DOG -Let’s go.

Bachelor: I immediately regret sharing that piece of information with you.

Well, with Step 1 and Step 2 of Happily Ever After done and over with, all that’s left is get married. Everything after that is easy peasy. Good work little brother. I love you.

–The Big Avocado

Advertisements

About The Big Avocado

A bag of chips and then some.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Hot Dog! My brother’s getting married.

  1. Eben says:

    “Think Las Vegas on estrogen mixed with a healthy dose of trash.”

    My favorite.

  2. joakland says:

    I’ve heard of a breakfast steak house/strip joint in Rhode Island called Eggs and Legs. Maybe the Fox bros and their hot dog cologne would have better luck there.

  3. There’s a joint in Madison called Smut and Eggs. I’ve “heard” there’s lot’s of midget porn. Sooo, anyway.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s