The wedding

Poor Dennis, he really doesn’t like weddings, especially on a Saturday night when he likes nothing more than ordering a take away Indian, which he eats while overdosing on trashy reality TV shows like celebrity roller skating on ice. He always buys a bottle of wine from the supermarket, not any old bottle, always a good one, he even bought one once for £4.99, unfortunately this fruity little red turned out to be a little acidic for Dennis and he spent the next three days staring into the bottom of his toilet, still it did make him go and buy some bleach, which just happened to be on special offer, so he now has a bathroom that is not only cleaner than a hospital but smells like one too.

Dennis stared at the wedding invitation, ‘Mr and Mrs Terry Hall request the pleasure of’. He wasn’t even sure he knew a Mr and Mrs Hall, but on investigation he discovered they were the prospective in laws of Karen from Accounts. To his horror the invite went on to invite not only Dennis but partner as well.  Partner, now they were taking the piss. Dennis hadn’t had a partner since the training course incident several years ago. It’s alright falling back onto the arms of your ‘partner’ but as Dennis had discovered, key to this exercise in trust is, to be there for your partner. Unfortunately for Dennis he hadn’t heard the trainer call a break in the proceedings and had fallen back expecting to be caught, but as he fell backwards his partner was having a well earned cup of tea and iced ring doughnut, by the time Dennis came round all the doughnuts were gone and only the plain biscuits were left.

Arriving at the reception he caught the tale end of the Grooms speech, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad a night as he thought. He looked round the room and all the usual wedding caricatures were there, he studied the room and his eyes fell on a group of women all of whom had seen better days. Why, he wondered, do these women, who all know the way to the pie shop insist on wearing extremely short dresses with bare legs which, due to the ravages of time (and pies) look like a lunar landscape. They also wear heavy high heeled shoes that look like something Frankenstein’s monster would have worn to go dancing.

Talking of which, is there anything sadder than watching the dance floor at a wedding when it is full of the old folk all trying to recapture their lost youth, where once they danced round their handbags, they now dance round their zimmer frames. The dance floor is normally full of middle aged wedding guests still in their best suits, for they wont remove their jackets all, desperately trying to look like they are enjoying the experience, yet you can feel their pain as they try to move in time with the beat. Dennis meanwhile had found himself dragged onto the floor by young Debbie from the post room and while she was rubbing herself up against him in a mildly erotic manner Dennis was desperately reciting the 7 times table to himself to try and avoid the blood rushing to a rather under used part of his body. However, the inevitable happened and Dennis had to endure an erection the like of which he had not known since 2003 when he was watching an old Carry On film and caught a glimpse of Barbara Windsor in a bikini. On that occasion the erection rather crept up on him, this time, however, it rather crept up on young Debbie, who one moment was dancing the Lambada and the next was pole dancing albeit on a small pole. Dennis got a slap round the cheek for his trouble and young Debbie ran off to tell all her colleagues. Dennis trooped off the dance floor and shuffled awkwardly to the toilets from where he emerged 5 minutes later feeling somewhat more relaxed. He looked closely into the mirror and sighed a resigned sigh because he knew he would never live this down.  Dennis looked into the mirror again and thought how much he hated going out.