Darwin at a Wedding

I am a Good Person.

Tonight, at the rehearsal dinner, my dear Compatriot regaled the table of bridesmaids with one of my classic Anonymous encounters: the tale of another wedding, another time, another bride.

Another win.

In a town called Racine, approximately 70 miles north of Chicago, deep in the anals of Wisconsin, past the cheese stores and porn shops of I-94, stands a plain-folked banquet hall. Inside, a crowd had gathered to celebrate the passing of a girlfriend into the chamber of the betrothed. The groom, a dear man, hailed from the area. Seated at the table with my (obviously, necessarily catty) sorority sisters, we engaged in such classic Wisconsin party games as "First person to spot a Packers jacket gets a buck" and "First person to spot a mullet wins," the latter game being finished as soon as it was announced. It was the kind of reception where cousin Randy bought the girls a round of Buttery Nipple shots and then tried in vain not to stare at our cleavage as we drank them.

Once we were all liquored up, the real games began. Keeping with tradition, near the end of the party the bride tosses her bouquet for all the single ladies to catch. For those of you who don't know, I'm pretty competitive. I like to win. And I'm proud of that. Because the fact is, the world needs winners. The world needs people who take games seriously. The world needs people who rise above the fray and catch that bouquet. The world doesn't need losers. The world needs winners. And I came to play.

Incidentally, there were some other players that evening. One of whom was in a wheelchair.

I am a Good Person.

I took my stance on the left wing of the pack. Crouched down - keep your center of gravity low - better balance. Arms out - wide - straight-arms. It's not a foul if you don't use your elbows. Eyes focused - adrenaline pulsing - ready. I've got sorority girls pressing against my back; I feel the hot breath of female desperation on the back of my neck. The wheelchair crowds my peripheral vision. The bride snaps the bouquet. It's a pouch punt - not a lot of distance - hangs to the right.
The wheelchair has the better angle. But I've got the better vertical.
I leap - stretch - over the girl in the wheelchair -
Caught!

I WIN!
Winner!
I'm the champion!

Now. Some people may say that the playing field was not level. That, perhaps, some of us had certain mobility advantages over others. And other people may say that it's not who won, but how the game was played. You know who those people are? Losers.

I came to play. And I do not apologize for my competitive drive or my superior skillz. The world needs winners. And sometimes, being a Winner means stealing the prize from the handicapped girl.

As is custom, the Winner of the bouquet toss must then dance with the man who catches the garter. Can you guess?

Cousin Randy.

Darwin, may I introduce you to my good friend: Karma.