Chapter Ten: A Hummer Limo and a John Deere Wedding

My life after divorce or as I like to call it, “Act Two,” is that of a newly single woman redefining her identity. Coincidentally, I find myself consistently in situations that the married version of myself never would have imagined, concocted, or even been invited to participate in. And, boy is it fun! And I am not talking about anything insane, just social invitations more fitting to Ms. Independent than the better half of Mr. and Mrs. So and So.

Hence, last Saturday I find myself hurtling down the highway in a Hummer limo, a vehicle that is clearly the epitome of redneck class, on my way to a casino, i.e. the Mecca of convicts, carnival workers, and every single individual missing a front tooth in the tri-state area. Certainly not the typical weekend fare I would have embarked upon back in Act One, that’s for sure.

Halfway to our destination we make a pit stop at a small town bar where a local wedding party is whooping it up. Because in this part of the country, most of us start our wedded bliss off in our rural home towns, flanked by every second cousin we have and doing shots in our wedding dresses next to Uncle Bucky.

This bride is no exception.

Upon entering the grimy bathroom, the girls and I discover the bride’s best friends. Or are they her enemies? Because how on earth could a bride choose to outfit her top five girlfriends in fashion fiascos like this: blinding sunshine yellow bridesmaid dresses that I am sure are visible from the space station. On a cloudy day.

I can not contain my horror and find my blunt self blurting, ‘Oh, you poor thing!” to the first victim I see emerging from the stall.

“I KNOW!!!” she practically wails, thankful for someone with the ovaries to vocalize the truth that is this bridesmaid blitzkrieg. “It’s horrendous, isn’t it?”

“Honey,” one of my friends sympathetically offers, “That. Is an understatement.”

“Well,” the banana confesses, “It is a John Deere themed wedding. The groomsmen have green accents in their tuxes. The bride and groom are farmers after all.” As if this justification offers some level of qualification and understanding. I just nod my head and frown.

Yes, we have stumbled across my Big Fat Redneck Wedding. It is true.

It is all I can do not to inquire about the details of such a grand affair as images of a green and yellow wedding cake adorned with a miniature bride and groom driving a John Deere tractor complete with manure spreader flashes through my brain. (Although that would be quite the creative use of chocolate frosting, you have to admit.) I don’t even want to ask what the centerpieces were at the reception. Or if they are planning to delay the honeymoon until the fall so it coincides with deer hunting.

Urban superiority complex aside, after the good laugh in the bathroom we all return to the bar and wish the bride and groom our best. After all, we all know that it is not about the wedding, it is about the marriage.

Who knows, these two crazy hillbilly kids might just celebrate their golden anniversary fifty years from now atop a shiny John Deere tractor, pulling a bushel of grandchildren dressed in sunshine yellow dresses and little green bow ties.

At least let’s hope so.

After all, no one wants this woman to remarry. Goodness gracious. Her Act Two would have her outfitting five girlfriends in tea length camouflage flanked by groomsmen in bright hunter orange.

Oh my.