Ladies and gentlemen, I’m just happy to be here at all this week!

I know, I know – I too thought that last week’s run-in with death a la acupuncture would’ve been more than enough excitement for mild-mannered, little old me, but apparently that death-defying half hour was only the tip of the iceberg when compared to how I would spend the following weekend! Folks, I’ve been places that men weren’t intended to travel, seen things that those luckiest will never see, so the least I can do is share my own plights in an effort to prevent you, my brave, brave readers from suffering the same cruel fate in the future…

This weekend I went to a bridal show.

Yeah, so the name probably should’ve been my first clue, but silly, irrational me thought that while the title itself targeted the little girls who’ve been dreaming of their wedding day since before they left their mother’s wombs, there could very well still be something to be enjoyed by us grooms as well. It was sold to me as the best place to gather information for planning a wedding because everyone is together in one place, and while those of us dudes who are actually interested in helping to plan our own weddings are sadly quite few and far between, there’d still be a place for us at the bridal show, right? We were the few, the proud, the five guys who were brave, bold … and stupid enough to step forth and strive to take an active role in the most important day of our lives, and I don’t know about all of them because I think a few have still yet to come to, but boy – I certainly didn’t see that stampede coming!

You’ve heard the term “like a deer in the headlights,” but somehow that one just doesn’t quite paint the picture of what happened in Downtown Tampa that afternoon. You remember that scene in the original Jurassic Park movie when the T-Rex first learns that he can get out of his pen? One of the first people he takes out is the lawyer that was hiding out in the port-a-john, and that’s the best way that I can think to describe it – “like getting torn in two by a Tyrannosaurus Rex when you absolutely least expect it!” Because that dude certainly didn’t see it coming, and quite frankly, neither did we…

It’s one of those things that you truly have to experience firsthand in order to grasp the magnitude of it all – maybe you had a sister or friend who was engaged, or for the truly initiated, maybe you opted to just skip out the middleman and propose to one of them yourself (not your sister, mind you…), god help your soul! You see, when that fateful engagement ring is placed upon a woman’s finger, a transformation of sorts takes place – even in the very best of them. Some, as you know, become that legendary title of Bridezilla, while others may undertake the slightly less ravishing stance of Grand Queen Over All Things Wedding-Related, but regardless, all brides big and small develop an aura known simply as Bridal Rage – a force that has been known to level small cities and bring entire populations to their knees, all over a misunderstood photography contract or an ivory chair cover that appears to be more of an off-white or a snow color under the lights at the site of the actual reception. Many of you are nodding your heads in solemn understanding, having experienced Bridal Rage yourselves when a loved one completely and utterly lost it during her own wedding planning. Those of you who are scratching your heads don’t know just how truly blissful your ignorance really is in this particular situation…

To describe the setting in the convention hall that afternoon in the most eloquent of ways – it was like locking a dozen or so rabid wolverines into a tiny broom closet and letting them duke it out, with the one exception that there’s a chance that eventually the wolverines might get bored of fighting and just call it a day. But of course, any groom will profess that this will never happen in the bridal world – not until every last flower, dress, and napkin color has been chosen, vetoed, and returned to once again. For your average bride, the “excitement” (insanity, to the rest of us) begins the moment that engagement ring settles on her finger and doesn’t cease until the plane ride back from her honeymoon in Oahu or Aruba or whatever other tropical getaway she’s been destined since birth to honeymoon at. If you’ve ever watched a dog chase its own tail for hours out in the backyard with a disturbing degree of persistence, you know the look of a bride who comes to the local bridal show ready and willing to plan her big day, at any and all costs!

I didn’t get a chance to check with the other guys (read: they weren’t allowed to talk to me), but the majority of my afternoon was pretty much spent dodging brides, their mothers and bridesmaids as they darted from booth to booth, carrying an increasingly heavy stack of pamphlets that my own bride accumulated throughout the day, and occasionally chuckling sheepishly when vendors would joke about how I’d probably rather be at home drinking beer and watching the big game than doing all of this wedding crap. Beer and sports – not so much, but don’t tempt me with sweet, sweet freedom nonetheless…

Would I do it again? [Expletive Deleted] no! And not necessarily because I’m an insensitive groom, mind you, but just like how those girls wouldn’t feel comfortable at a sci-fi convention or camping out in the woods, sometimes it’s better to simply know your place and that there are some places you just don’t go. Besides, between the Internet and the yellow pages, there are still plenty of avenues for a curious groom like me to get my proverbial planning feet wet without further endangering my own life – better off leaving the cat fights over DJs and photographers at these things to the professionals, thus doing my part to ensure that I’ll actually be physically able to attend our own little soiree!

Next week, we’ll return with a slightly less death-defying episode of The Humor Column, primarily because these old bones just can’t take it anymore! Whether you’re seeking me for a blood donation or to solicit your services as a wedding seismologist or whatever, take note that I’ll officially be on vacation until further notice. Any questions, take it up with the woman – she’ll be the one carrying roughly 83 pounds of literature about honeymooning in the Cayman Islands…