Wedding night jitters?

Unlike the last wedding I was a part of, I very happily did not vomit the morning of my own wedding. The night, however, will be of more interest to you, dear readers.

The day was literally the best day of my life, great ceremony, awesome celebration. The reception was in the afternoon, so when it ended there was time for a nap and then a big party evening. The younger folks hit the bars of Alexandria, which is where our tale begins.

My wife and I roll up fashionably late to the bar where the party has congregated. The joint is hopping, the band is jamming, our friends are yelling and the drinks are flying. As the groom, a lot of them were flying to me. First things first my God-brother John orders a round of whiskey shots. I'm into it, but not naive.

We throw em back, slam em down, probably high-five or something, and that's that. Or is it? The tell-tale signs appear. The burp. The gag. The hold-it-in-the-throat belch. There's no way I could make it through the crowd on the dance-floor to the bathroom in time. An vomateur would probably panic and spray all over the masses of people.

But I am like a puke MacGyver; this is too easy. Grab an empty pint glass. Bend over like just another guy tying his shoe at the bar. The drink slams right up into the glass, fills up to just below the top. Put the glass on the floor and push it as far out of the way as possible. Consider yourself primed to party.

Only my wife noticed, and she loved it. More shots, please!