I'm out of my element here. Out of the two hundred people crowded into the VFW reception hall, I know three well enough to converse with. The bride and groom had to be pointed out to me.

So walking into this fiasco I'm entertaining a busload of social reservations, each of which are dispelled as I near the open wet bar. Fortunately, I had paged through my bartender's guide before arriving.

"Barkeep, give me a screwdriver."

"Coming up, sir."

All around me are conversations I have no place in. Everyone here is better dressed than I am. I bet I'm the only one unemployed here. One snooty bastard drones on about his yacht. My Buick can scarcely string two miles together and this jackass is talking about a god damn yacht.

Across the ballroom my girlfriend, Lauren, chats with Julie, the walrus bride and their mutual friend, Christy. None of the three could be considered pretty, even at this distance. Lauren and Christy use to take Julie to the beach so they'd feel better in their bathing suits.

"Whatcha drinkin?" Johnathan asks. I've known Johnathan since school where we smoked many a lunch together. He's recently hitched his saddle to Christy's back which accounts for his presence.

"Screwdriver. And you?"

"A Charlie Chaplin."

"The hell is that?"

"I don't know. Heard some other guy order it. Tastes pretty good."

"Barkeep, a Charlie Chaplin, if you will."

"Coming up, sir."

The booze loosens me up a bit. I no longer want to throttle the guy with the yacht. Lauren approaches, asks what I'm drinking, and tells me she's never heard of a Charlie Chaplin (which has quite a fruity twang to it). Lauren's summer dress shows a lot of cleavage, her best asset. Johnathan can't keep his eyes off her tits. Christy is as flat as Illinois. However, she does have something I fear Lauren will never attain- a good job.

Lauren and Christy return to our table pushed toward the back where all the people who mean nothing to the family sit. Meanwhile, Johnathan and I consume a shot of Tequila, a shot of Crown Royal, and a mint julep. Following a headless horseman, I'm feeling damn good.

Leaning against the bar, we scope out the immediate area. Two tables away I spot two blondes and a brunette who's bombed out of her gourd. She speaks loudly, slurring her words, and her laugh sounds like a horse choking on an apple.

"The girls looking over here?" I whisper.

"No. What you got in mind?"

"I'm gonna socialize."

Johnathan is about to get schooled.

"Excuse me, ladies."

The blondes stare at me with a horror and indignation. I'm beginning to realize perhaps I shouldn't have worn my orange and yellow Acapulco shirt to this shindig. No matter. Once these girls get over my attire and embrace my grooviness, the phone numbers will come rolling off their tongues. Except the brunette. She looks hard pressed to remember her age.

"Yes?" The blonde on the left arches her eyebrows. Menacing, yet seductive.

"I just noticed your friend here," I motion toward the brunette. "I thought, heh heh, maybe you ought to cut her off after this next drink. Heh heh. I'm buying. Heh."

If the blondes' eyes were telescopic sights, I'd have four bullets lodged in my brain basket.

"Not that it's any of your business, asshole, but Susie was in a serious car accident nine months ago. She's not drunk, just brain damaged. Asshole."

I slither back to the bar.

"Barkeep, give me a rattlesnake."

"On the way, sir."

Johnathan hovers at my shoulder. "Why are those blondes glaring at you? What'd you say?"

"They must've seen me with Lauren. They didn't seem interested."

Johnathan and I return to our table, drinks in hand. We don't get settled in two seconds when Julie's mother announces the removal of the garter. Johnathan springs up ready to go. I need some goading.

The booze is definitely working on me. It's obvious my equilibrium is not equal to the task of diving for a god damn garter. So I stand at the front of about thirty single guys, all dressed better than I.

My first mistake is standing close enough to catch a glimpse of Julie's white, cottage cheese thighs as the groom removes the garter with his yellow teeth amid cat calls hollered by men glad they won't have to share a bed with this woman. Doesn't he realize after exchanging vows the bride can only get bigger?

Second mistake is, rather than lobbing the garter into the air, he whips it over his shoulder directly into my hand. Sickened, I watch the garter loop around my forearm like a lasso.

Johnathan slaps my back. I hear mumbled complaints around me. Guys wondering who the hell I am. I'm just as dismayed as they are. I return to my table by way of the bar.

"Barkeep, gin and tonic."

"Nice catch, sir."

"Just get my drink."

The bouquet toss is next. Lauren and Christy abscond to the stage.

"Look at this damn thing," I show the yard of fabric to Johnathan. He nods drunkenly. "I bet I could fit this fucking thing around my waist," I tell him.

"Bet you can't."

As Julie launches the bouquet, I worm the garter around my legs. It is not quite as large as I estimated, but, after a few tugs, I work it around my waist.

"Well, I'll be damned," Johnathan laughs.

Lauren and Christy return empty-handed. Looking up, I notice one of the friends of the brain damaged brunette clutches the bouquet.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lauren hisses.

"It fit. Check it out."

"Take it off. Now."

"Can we please have the man who caught the garter and the woman who caught the bouquet please come to the stage for pictures."

"What?"

Lauren repeats the announcement.

The blonde has already reached the stage. Lauren shields her face with her hands. Johnathan giggles uncontrollably. There are two hundred sets of eyes riveted on me.

I stand up amid a cacophony of gasps and groans. The garter is blinding white against the orange and yellow hibiscus. The crowd's reaction assumes a hostile edge. There are a lot of people separating me from the door. Fortunately, there are not so many people between me and the bar.