I’ve never really understood the wedding rehearsal dinner. I can certainly understand why a wedding rehearsal was needed – most people have limited experience with weddings and need a couple walkthroughs so the entire thing doesn’t resemble a poorly choreographed flash mob. But I don’t understand the wedding rehearsal dinner. Why, exactly, do you need to rehearse eating dinner? Unless you’re Ethiopian, most of us have been eating dinner all our lives and are extremely good at it.

Turns out that actually wedding rehearsal dinners are for the two families and wedding parties to get to know each other, share heart-tugging memories about the young old couple, and cry deeply.

The dinner started well, with some dry, chalky salmon. I was inclined to file a formal complaint with the chef until I recalled that we had showed up an hour late to dinner so it was probably our fault. Witty banter flowed like champagne between tables, until it was time for people to take turns standing up and saying something about the couple while weeping openly. I tried to lighten the mood with a couple funny anecdotes and while the crowd laughed appreciatively it did little to stop the spread of darkness that loomed over us like the foul reach of Sauron.

Eventually, the post-dinner entertainment arrived by way of Wael Farouk, a pianist whose recent debut at Carnegie Hall of “tonally mild and quasi-impressionistic haiku-inspired composition[s]….announced the presence of a sensitive artist” (not even remotely my words). Farouk’s performance on an old, rotting hotel piano was undoubtedly impressive, but all New York Concert Review laudations aside, if your next gig after Carnegie Hall is performing at a wedding rehearsal dinner, how good can you really be?

Regardless, the thing at the forefront of my mind was the pickle I found myself in regarding my sword belt. You see, Uruk-hai™ scimitars are meant to be more or less carried at all times, rather than worn and swiftly drawn, as their distinctive shape makes sheaths a bit of a problem.

Worse, the “sheath” I had on me was designed a bit more for a thin rapier, and the only way to keep the sword from falling right out was to basically tie it firmly in place. Originally, this wasn’t going to be a problem, but midway through the wedding Bridezilla abruptly decided that she wanted the groomsmen to draw their swords and create a very sharp and dangerous canopy that she and the groom would walk under as they departed.

So, now I have a sword that will only stay in place if it’s tied in and cannot be easily drawn but I need to be able to quickly draw it during the wedding without drawing attention to myself by fighting with my sword while the bride and groom play tonsil hockey.

Great.

Part Four