"Forever is a long time," Marcus confessed before arriving for the ceremony.
"It won't last forever," I replied. "Death will snuff you both out eventually. That or divorce - whichever comes first."
A lapse in judgment compelled Marcus to name me best man. I was far from an ideal choice.
As the wedding congregation buzzed in anticipation of that beautiful, ostensibly transcendent, moment, the groom's face grew green with uneasy about his upcoming nuptials.
Marcus shifted back and forth in his seat, looking like a five-year old who needed to piss but was afraid to ask teacher for permission.
"Forever," his mortified expression expounded upon the two syllable utterance. "Forever," he repeated.
At one point, I considered pulling over to let my pale-faced friend vomit out his apprehension. But the sight of a jittery Marcus amused me to no end. I couldn't possibly sacrifice my personal amusement, no sir.
My imagination took things a step further: an image of him wretching onto his bride just prior to their kiss. Alas, he would hold it in for another thirty years.
As we pulled into the Church parking lot, he asked me the obligatory question, "Am I crazy for doing this?"
"No, the powder blue tux - that was crazy. This, this is just marriage. Nothing to fret about."
He calmed down decidedly - heart rate, breathing rate returning to normal levels. "Yeah, I mean, what's the worse can happen," he said, trying to manufacture confidence.
"Well, she could turn out to be a cheating whore who takes half of your stuff in a messy divorce."
He froze, grew a couple shades paler, more horrified than before.
"That's the worse thing that can happen?!?" He was incredulous. The five-year old shuffle returned.
"Well, either that or she's actually a dude."
"No, she's not a dude," he said rather bluntly. "I know that for sure."
"Well, what if she was a dude - same difference?"
Silently amused by his reaction or lack thereof, I watched intently as he recollected the rare moments of intimacy they shared, trying to locate any clue - obvious, insignificantly minute, or otherwise obscure - that may confirm or disprove my whimsical proposition. He turned an even paler shade. I suspect he found something disconcerting in his mnemonic perusal.
"Man, don't worry. I was just joking." I wasn't. "She's 100% woman, right? You know better than anyone." Apart from her cosmetic surgeon. "You tapped that, excuse my frankness, fine ass many of nights. You know for sure."
Ah, male bonding cures all that ails a frozen groom.
"Yeah, you're right, she's all woman. And she's all mine," he laughed, looking for a high-five. I reciprocated, out of obligation if nothing else.
"Now go in there and marry that girl." The best man cliches were out in full force. Now I felt like hurling.
"Here I come, girl." He placed an elongated emphasis on girl. He bounded into the cathedral, on an emotional high, unaware of the chasms ahead for him and his blushing 'bride'.
