“Your mother is starting to tell people about Tee Time. I think that’s my cue to leave,” my dad tells me as I stand with Carter while he scoops Gavin up into his arms and passes him off to my dad.
“What’s Tee Time?” Carter asks as we watch Gavin sigh and snuggle his face into my dad’s shoulder, muttering something about flashlights and donkey kicks.
My dad smiles evilly at Carter and then looks at me. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the Rachel Morgan Tee Time tradition.”
We say our good-byes and as the reception hall door closes behind them, my mother’s voice comes over the microphone’s speaker.
“TEE TIME! IT’S TEE TIME! Everyone meet over by the bar in five minutes!”
I close my eyes and sigh as I hear Jim let out an excited yell and jump up from his seat.
When I open my eyes, Carter is watching as a crowd of about twenty people, led by Jim, walk over to the bar.
“What is going on?”
“Carter! Now that you are part of this family, it’s time you learned about the grand old tradition that is Tee Time,” my mother exclaims as she pushes her way between us and grabs both of our arms to leads us to the bar. “This is an age old ritual that my family performs at every wedding to ensure the married couple lives a long, happy life together and that all of their ups and downs are in the bedroom.”
Jim stands by the bar, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement as we made our way up to him.
“Mrs. Morgan! What’s our first order of business at this Tee Time gathering?” he asks with a big grin.
“I do believe whiskey is the first on the agenda tonight, my handsome groom,” she replies with a smack to his ass as she waves someone over from another table.
“Hold on, wait just a second!” Liz’s mom yells as she comes running up to us. “The cake needs to be cut, and you still haven’t done the first dance and the photographer still needs-”
My mom steps in front of Mary’s path and puts her hand up to stop her from getting any closer to Jim.
“Mary, dear, you look stressed. When was the last time you used the bullet I gave you for your birthday last year and gave yourself a nice, big orgasm?”
My mother, after having dealt with Mary Gates for enough years, knows exactly how to divert her attention onto something else. It's nice to see her focusing on someone else’s sex life for once. With Mary sputtering and at a loss for words, the wedding reception checklist is forgotten.
“I have to say, I’m a little bit astounded by the fact that you were still a virgin the night we met. How is it possible your mother never bought you a male hooker for your birthday?” Carter asks.
Jim lets out a cheer when he sees his mother-in-law practically running away from the bar and yells to the bartender for twenty shots of whiskey to go around.
“So really, Tee Time is just another excuse to get trashed at a wedding?” Carter asked.
“That would be correct,” I reply as I take the shot glass filled with amber liquid that is handed to me. “Calling it Stupid Time would just be too obvious.”
“I guess since you’re drinking that means this gorgeous stud hasn’t impregnated you again,” my mother states as she takes her own.
“MOM!” I scold.
“What? Can you blame me for wanting another grandchild? You two make beautiful babies. The man obviously has super sperm. And by the looks of your late-night kitchen trysts, he still knows where to put it.”
Mortification, party of one, your table is now ready.
“Did I ever tell you about the boyfriend I had in college who thought blow jobs could cause pregnancy? It’s a shame really. I can suck a tennis ball through a crazy straw but he missed out.”
Shouldn’t there be some sort of law about people knowing these things about one of their parents?
My mother finally shuts up as Jim leads the group in a toast that consists of everyone raising their shot glasses, chanting “Tee Time, Tee Time, Tee Time!” before downing the whiskey.
Carter quickly learns the ins and the outs of Tee Time. Basically, the person in charge (my mother) borrows the microphone from the DJ and announces when it’s Tee Time. It starts off as being every twenty minutes. After the first few rounds everyone quickly forgets just how far apart Tee Time is supposed to be. Eventually, it’s every ten minutes, then every five minutes, and then there is someone puking in the middle of the dance floor and the bartender is out of a job because Tee Time attendance quickly jumped from twenty people to seventy-eight people and they’ve taken over the bar so they can pour the shots faster.