Just Call Me Trump, Baby

THE HOMESICK MINIVAN: THE WEDDING

Justin Grimbol

My suit was too large. The slacks were especially baggy. And I didn’t have any dress shoes so I wore sneakers. Really old overly worn. They looked so beat up. They looked like I had been wearing them my whole life. The bride told me I looked like shit. Then she laughed. She liked to laugh at people. She has one of the best laughs I have ever experienced, so I didn’t mind her laughing at me. I let her get her jokes in as a wedding present. Her actual wedding present was a check that would probably bounce, so it was good to let her have a little fun at my expense.

The wedding was held at swanky event hall in New Jersey. There was lots of free booze. I ended up drinking a too many White Russians.

At one point I ran into my buddy Ian. He was the bride’s best man. He was working on the toast and I was feeling very helpful due to all the white Russians and weed gummies.

 

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“Dude, in your toast, you should totally talk about actual toast.”

He laughed.

“Like the stuffed you put butter and jelly on.”

“Yeah I get it.”

I drank more White Russians then waited for the toast. Alex did not mention actual toast once. This broke my heart. I thought it was such a good idea. Now it was wasted. I was wasted. I was stumbling and I had only had… I don’t know how many drinks.

After the toast and dinner, the bride and groom had their first dance. Then we joined them on the dance floor. The DJ’s were really young and played bad music. But they had a smoke machine and I liked that. I kept asking them to shoot the smoke at my butt.

“Sure, dude,” one said. “No problemo!”

They shot the smoke and I shook my butt over it. I couldn’t hear much laughter. My smoky butt wasn’t being appreciated. I could hear my wife laughing though. She also has a great laugh. It’s loud and soulful and happy and sometimes involves hopping and clapping her hands.

I walked up to her and kissed her.

“I forgot you were here,” I said.

“Oh shut up,” she said.

We danced. She had bad rhythm. Or maybe I did. I couldn’t tell.

Once I got a little too sweaty, I stopped dancing and wandered and I tried to meet some new people. Everyone wanted to know what I did for work. First I told people my actual job title. Then I just told them I worked with old people. Then I told them I hang out with old people. Then I told them I watched the weather channel with old people all day long. Then I just said I watched weather. Then I just said weather. “I do the weather,” I’d say. Then I told people I have anxiety issues and I take Zoloft and Ativan and nap a lot. And that was probably the most truthful thing I said that night.

Eventually, I stopped drinking and spent the rest of the night wandering around and sobering up. Around ten I drove my wife and I to our hotel. I sniffed her and kissed her and I got her into bed. During doggy style sex, I asked her to call me Donald Trump.

“What?”

“Just call me Trump, baby.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No. This is weird. Why do you want me to call you that?”

“I thought it would be fun and taboo.”

“Well, it’s not fun.”

 

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\The next day we found everyone looking hungover and slightly confused. We sat in front of the hotel. Ian had lost his wallet and his car keys and his cigarettes and one of his shoes. He looked like he was on a scavenger hunt.

My wife came over and sat on my lap. We kissed and held each other. Then the chair broke apart and I landed on the ground. I couldn’t stop laughing and coughing and moaning.

“You okay?” someone asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m just going to sit here on the ground for a while. Shit. Maybe I should start dieting.”

“Haven’t we been dieting?” Heather asked.

“I can’t remember.”

For a while I worried about the hotel charging me for the broken chair. Then I noticed most of the hotels chairs were metal. I had sat in the only wooden one.

“Hey, was that a prank chair?”

“No that was a wedding present,” someone said. “Don’t worry though. I got them more than one.”

“Oh thank God for that.”

 

JUSTIN GRIMBOL GETS DIRTY ON GET LIT WITH LEZA PODCAST

 

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Justin Grimbol is the author of COME HOME, WE LOVE YOU STILL, MINIVAN POEMS, and THE PARTY LORDS. He lives in Westminster West, Vermont.

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