Thursday 29 January 2009

Punctuality is a virtue

One of my friends, an American, was getting married to another of my friends, a Japanese lady. They decided to get married in Maui as people often do in these situations. It's half way between the US of A and Nihon. It's nice. The weather is usually very good and there a plethora of very nice hotels.

A whole bunch of people were invited and I and my very good friend H-Dog travelled down together. Now H-Dog looks a bit like David Bowie and was sporting a ponytail at the time. It should be noted that looking like the Great White Duke in Japan is a very good thing if you want to attract the attention of the local ladies. Add to that an excellent command of the Japanese language and an ability to make the girls laugh, whatever their nationality, and you have a man who women want to be with.

None of this seemed obvious to any of the airport security personnel we had to contend with on our trip down there. They seemed to see a gay couple traveling together which, apparently they didn't like. I have never been pulled out of  a security queue and had the contents of my luggage searched with such frequency before or since. 

We arrive in Maui having spent the flight over (+ interchange in Honolulu International Airport) indulging in the spirit of air travel, and also the wine and beer of air travel. But there was trouble in paradise. The man with the sign saying "A MOUSE" was conspicuous by his absence in the arrival hall and we had to take a taxi to the Grand Marriott. I was quite upset about this as there is nothing that says "Welcome" to me more than a nice man waiting to pick up your luggage and drive you to your hotel without any hassle.

My temper was considerably improved by the presence of sea kayaks at the resort and this led me to be standing, post paddle, in my board shorts and rashie, carbon fiber paddle in hand watching the hotel staff decorate the gazebo on the lawn for my friends' wedding.  The time 4:30pm. Start of wedding 5:00pm.

Now, I have never and I mean NEVER been to a wedding which started even remotely on time. After a brisk run back to my hotel room (yes, shared with Mr Dog, the whole gay boys on tour theme continuing strong) and a shower, I was stood in the room shouting at room service about the lack of a car to pick us up at the airport. Time 4:57pm.

A brisk walk down to the lawn saw us arrive and be seated 30 seconds before they started playing "Here comes the Bride". Time 5:03pm.

Lesson 1 - Hotel weddings always start on time.  Who knew?

The lawn was a wonderful place. The sun was shining and it was a fine place to be in a pair of board shorts and a rashie. It wasn't so fine being in a suit and tie. In fact, it was a wee bit on the hot side. I had wisely chosen to wear  a blue shirt for the wedding. As the wedding finished and we all retired to the drinks table for a hard earned champagne, it became apparent that I could not take my jacket off even though the wedding was over. I was sopping, my shirt was sopping and definitively a very different color of blue from the bits that weren't sopping. I was trapped in a jacket until I managed to cool down a bit and dry out. Disaster.

Lesson 2 - Wear a white shirt to weddings which will be hot.

Luckily a jug of iced water, some shade and the odd flute of champagne allowed me to regain my composure and with a loosened tie and a song in my heart, I set off to make sure the DJ equipment and sound system had arrived.

6 comments:

  1. This is the wedding with the orgy in it? Pray continue.

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  2. Haha, Well I don't know about orgy per se. But we'll have to see.

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  3. Haha, nice story. I hope you managed to groove to the DJ's sound system despite the soppy shirt..

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  4. Yes I did thanks, and since I was the DJ, I made sure I was playing the good stuff.

    Watch out for parts II and III of the exciting story......

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  5. I am sitting here giggling, trying to explain to my husband why I find the idea of you as one half of a gay couple so laughable, and especially with a pony-tailed David Bowie look-a-like (does that make him a thin Meatloaf?).

    As an aside, on my recent trip back to the UK I was asked by immigration whether I could prove Eve was my daughter and then to eat her baby food in security.

    The world gone mad.

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  6. Hahaha, just be thankful they didn't try to confiscate your baby fork cos it is dangerous......

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