Despite the first wedding I attended being somewhat of a bust, I had high hopes for wedding #2, the marriage of one of my long-time best friends Serena to her college sweetheart (and all-around nice guy) Jack.

Serena and I had known each other for years – ever since a kindergarten playdate where we each coveted the other’s favorite toy.  Our families were close friends, I was a bridesmaid in the wedding – this was sure to be a night to remember.

…And it was, though not for the reasons I’d hoped.

To this wedding, I brought my boyfriend Luke.  Luke and I dated from when I was 23 to 25, and is still a genuine friend today.  He’ll figure in plenty of stories on this blog, so please don’t judge him too harshly for what you’re about to read.  (You can judge him a little, don’t worry, I still do.)  Luke is from the midwest, and once I went to a few of his friends’ weddings in the red states I realized exactly how overwhelming this wedding must have been to him.

You see, Luke wasn’t only meeting my best friends from high school for the first time (not to mention staying with my family for almost a week), he was my date to a bona fide million dollar wedding – the type of soiree you’d see on Gossip Girl and think “no one lives like that.”  Serena does.

The wedding was gorgeous and opulent – and, somewhat to my older/wiser chagrin, not really out of the ordinary to my high school friends and me, who’d grown up pretty much expecting we’d all have weddings straight out of a Disney fairy tale (as opposed to a Grimm Brothers one).  We were young and from the suburbs, what can I say?

I spent the day of the wedding getting ready with the other nine bridesmaids, swanning about in the lavish suite reserved for just that purpose, spinning in our pricey designer bridesmaid gowns.  When Serena told me she had something special for me to take part in, I was thrilled.  (After all, there’s no way my best friend would give me a lame job like “pass around the guest book,” right?)  Serena explained that she wanted me to be the witness on her wedding certificate – my name and the name of one of Jack’s friends would be preserved in history as the overseers of this blessed day. I was massively honored.

…Until, of course, the time came for the actual signing of the certificate (pre-wedding), which was less of a wonderful moment full of hugs and photos and more of a “oh, Jess, go over there and sign the thing like I asked you.” WHAT? I would have rather passed around the guest book.

The ceremony was lovely, with one of Jack’s friends reading a Native American poem (neither Jack nor Serena is Native American…) and one of our high school friends reading that e.e. cummings poem about carrying your heart in my heart or whatever that everyone seems to want read in their weddings. I prefer people to carry my heart in some sort of designer bag, but to each her own.

Then, to the party! The party was opulent and fabulous, with dancing and eating and the amount of general merriment one would expect for the dough Serena’s family was clearly shelling out. I wish I could say I took part in more of it than I did, but instead I spent most of the reception on the sidelines dealing with my beyond-wasted boyfriend, who for some reason thought it was a good idea to drink straight vodka all night.

Don’t get me wrong – Luke is a pro drinker – one of those guys who can suck down ten drinks but still seem completely sober (I’m not saying this is commendable, I’m just saying it’s true), but no one is a pro enough drinker to drink glasses full of vodka all night and not eventually pay the consequences. So – while my friends were doing “YMCA” and “Come on Eileen” (one of my least favorite wedding songs ever – was recently heartened to learn that my sister Ella had it on her “no play list” for her wedding – clearly I raised her right), I was attempting to get Luke to refrain from heading to the bar for his seventeen hundredth vodka/rocks…and mostly failing.

The wedding ended and Luke and I headed out to find the town car that was going to take us back to my parents’ house in the suburbs (where we were staying). As I passed two of my high school friends, Luke continued the good impression he’d been cultivating by dramatically vomiting (mostly) into a nearby trash can. If that was the sum of it, however, it would have been better than what did happen.

What did happen, you may ask? Well, Luke continued throwing up during the entire ride back to the suburbs. Yes, in the lovely town car my parents had hired for us. (Mostly out the window, but not entirely…) If THAT was the sum of it, it still would have been better than what did happen.

Okay, so what DID happen? We got home, where Luke promptly realized he had somehow lost the house key I’d given him to hold for safe-keeping. Mortified, I rang the doorbell, waking up my long-suffering parents and having to face their sleepy faces with my incredibly intoxicated boyfriend on my arm. Their faces said it all – “Jessica, THIS is the guy you think you’re going to MARRY?”

That, probably, was the beginning of the end for Luke and me.

Serena and Jack are still happily married with two young kids. Every time I see them they thank me for the immensely important role I played in signing their wedding certificate, which they have blown up into a movie-size poster on their living room wall. One of the previous two sentences is not true.