We’re driving to the Macs’ house, and Phillip is giving me a hard time about our STD meeting with his parents.
“We’re trespassing in dangerous territory,” he tells me.
I’m not finding the whole thing all that funny, personally, so I tell him very politely, “Shut up.”
He grabs my hand and kisses it. Like that will help.
“Phillip, if I’d texted you and told you I was worried about an STD, you totally would’ve thought the same thing.”
“Well, from you, sure, but my MOTHER?” He starts laughing hysterically.
He’s been doing that a lot lately. He calms down a little when I flip him off.
“I’m sorry. I know it caused you some stress, but it’s really quite funny.”
“Maybe, but I was freaking out. You just don’t need to go telling people about it, okay?”
All of a sudden, Phillip looks very interested in the road.
My phone buzzes. I have a text from Logan, one of our groomsmen.
Loggie: What’s the difference between love and herpes? Herpes lasts forever.
“Phillip, here’s a happy sentiment from Logan about our upcoming nuptials.”
“That’s cool. What’d he say?”
I read Phillip the text. “Did you tell everyone?”
“Uh, hey, we’re here,” he says as he pulls in the driveway.
Needless to say, I get all sorts of subtle—and not-so-subtle—shit about the STD because, by now, Phillip has told the whole freaking world about it.
At least with the XXX wedding, I only get funny texts from Danny.
I walk in the door, and Mr. Mac greets me with a slap on the back. “Hey, JJ, do you know how Burger King gave Dairy Queen an STD?” He laughs and then says the punch line, “He forgot to wrap his Whopper. Ha-ha-ha, get it?”
Laugh, laugh, laugh.
Everybody laugh.
Phillip, who I think is going to stick up for me, says seriously, “Dad, you really shouldn’t joke about STDs.”
See, isn’t he sweet?
But then he adds naughtily, “You can’t dick around with stuff like that.”
And, now, they’re both practically rolling on the floor, laughing. Holding-their-sides, trying-to-breathe laughing.
I’m going to kill myself now.
We all sit down at the kitchen table. Wedding guest lists in hand.
My phone buzzes.
And buzzes.
Our friends are all so witty and clever.
And, right now, I’m flipping them all off in my mind. Mrs. Mac, the very person who started this whole debacle and the very person who should be most embarrassed by this, keeps grabbing my phone and reading the texts out loud. Then, they all hoot with laughter.
Katie Bear: How does herpes leave the hospital? On crotches! Bahahaha!
Joey Loves You: I wanted to get on your wedding website, but I heard it was INFECTED!!! Ha-haha-ha!
Nickaloser: What’s the most fatal sexually transmitted disease for a bird? Cherpes because there is no TWEETMENT!!! Jay, I just have to say that your blondeness is adorable.
Blakeness: Hey, congrats. We heard they’re naming an STD in your honor.
I say boldly, “If you’re through with all your fun, maybe we can actually work on the guest list.”
So, Phillip, Mr. Organized, somehow merges all of our lists into one spreadsheet. We have four hundred fifty people on our merged list.
Phillip says, “Obviously, we need to make some cuts.”
I say seriously, “We really need to think carefully about this list. I mean, we don’t wanna give STDs to just anyone, do we?”
And then I smile.
Mr. Mac says, “Awww, JJ, you made a little STD joke.” And then he says, “Let me see this list.” He scans through it. “Julie, if we haven’t gotten a Christmas card from them in the last five years, you need to take them off the list.” He rambles off about twenty-five names of people I’ve never heard of.
Mrs. Mac is starting to pout.
Phillip says, “Think of it this way, Mom. Don’t invite anyone you wouldn’t want to spend the weekend with. You’ll be shopping on the Plaza, eating dinner with them, looking at lights with them, dancing and drinking with them. Go through your list and mark who you really want there with you.”
I look at Phillip’s list. A long-ass list of frat and football boys whose idea of a perfect night includes beer pong, beer bongs, keg stands, weed, and probably a few strippers. On a mellow night. Let’s just say, these boys like to party.
“You might wanna do the same thing.”
“Hmm, you might be right about that,” he says.
After we go through that, BOOM, the list is done. I guess we can say, the STD crisis is over.
