This weekend, the last of my two months of traveling, was spent in Michigan with my dad and one hundred of his closest friends and family.
I should have known that it was something more than just a BBQ, but when I asked my dad point blank if this weekend was really a secret wedding, he said, "Nah. This is just how Sharon does parties." So, putting it from my mind, I played one-handed croquet (it's one-handed because you were required to hold a beer the entire time) and sitting back listening to the band play. (Perhaps clue #2)
After thanking everyone from coming, my dad told everyone to go to the maple tree because he and Sharon were going to get married. By the way, the officiant was found on the Internet and he's also a flight attendant who left right after this to fly to Miami. Oh, and he was the only one in pants. (Perhaps clued #3)
For the most convenient terms, I have two step brothers and a step sister, who has a son, so technically, my dad is a grandpa and I have a nephew of sorts...weird. Although, I don't think that this will be awkward because none of us will be living with them and have to argue about touching someones drums or making our beds into bunk beds so that there would be more room to do activities.
Now that my travels are over for some time, it has been pointed out to me that where ever I go, there seems to be a wedding. Thinking back, I have gone to a wedding the four of the last five weekends and I am sure that there were numerous weddings in Vegas to make it 5 for 5. Apparently, I am the Jessica Fletcher of weddings. Instead of going somewhere and someone gets murdered and I investigate it, I go to places, people get married and I party. It's a much better version, I think. Jessica Fletcher never caught on that all these people would die around her and apparently her friends didn't either because they kept inviting her.
Perhaps with all this blogging and wedding-going I should start a novel series: Wedding, She Wrote. Ha.