MIKE: Choosing a groomsman was supposed to be easy – partly because I only had to choose one but mostly because I only had one in mind anyway: my brother.
Who knew it would be as challenging and emotionally taxing as the real proposal? Should I buy roses or just a beer? Is a walk in the park needed, or would a candle-lit dinner suffice?
Because I figured my brother would assume he was the chosen one, I waited until the last minute. But he thought I had someone else in mind and grew more and more agitated with every passing day.
“OK, all the arrangements are made,” I told him over beers. “We’re finally ready.”
“Oh … you’re ALL done?”
“Yup – every last detail. Every … last … thing.”
He hunched over his beer. When I raised my glass in celebration, he stubbornly offered a clink in return.
I returned home and Dana, my fiancee, had her hands on her hips. “Did you ask him yet?” she asked.
When I clapped my hand to my forehead, she rolled her eyes and headed to the phone. She handed it to me when my brother answered.
“It’s me,” I said. “Um … listen … so I was wondering, what size suit do you wear?”
Dana sighed. “Oh, how sweet.”