Don’t say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream.
~Mark Twain, 1835-1910
I watch the bride-to-be walk toward me, and her beautiful smile stretches even wider across her glowing face when she notices me. She winks at me, and I wink back. Thumper, my cantankerous heart, skips a beat or two, and I lock my knees to stop the shaking. If I pass out while standing at the altar it would ruin her wedding. It took forever to win her over. I know this sounds like a cliche, but I feel like the luckiest man alive.
I glance at the guy next to me, and see his crooked grin beaming from ear to ear. He’s watching the blushing bride too, and I catch him in the act of winking at her. For a split second I want to punch him in the face. I admit I’m a little bit jealous of him.
I don’t want to punch him because he winked at her just now, or the way he looked her up and down before the wink. It’s because of the massive amounts of whiskey we drank last night at the bachelor party. My head is pounding, and he looks like he didn’t touch a drop.
My name is JD Ferguson. Pleased to meet you. The guy next to me is my great grandson Jacob. Jake’s the one getting married. Jake couldn’t have done it without me, either. I know that sounds conceited, but it’s the truth. I taught Jake everything there is to *not* know about women, and he found his soulmate by *not* doing everything I did. I coached him through it.
As for me, I’m never getting married again. I tried it seven times before I learned I wasn’t marrying material. I became skilled at dodging bullets from women. I don’t mean metaphorical bullets, like the getting-married bullet. I mean genuine lead bullets. And skillets, knives, appliances, car parts, pets, tools (hand and electric), speeding cars, and too many other attempts on my life and limbs to mention. Seven times, ladies and gentlemen.
The story of Jacob and his bride is an epic love story, but it’s not the best one. The greatest love story of all time is about me and Baby, my eighth wife. I tried getting married seven times, but Baby’s my eighth wife. When I quit being an asshole Baby grew herself a nice husband. Till Death Do Us Part.
Ain’t nobody getting out of this marriage alive.