© 2012 Aaron Atkinson

Aaron, Aaron, Aaron

The fireflies blinked and the crickets chirped as we stood at a high-boy table outside the white wedding reception tent with our friends Aaron, Jackie and Chelsea. We sipped cold root beer and cream soda from slick brown glass bottles as we chatted about the wedding, and listened to the background music and the evening’s emcees. As the bride and groom, Aaron and Leigh, made their way down the grassy hill towards their reception, the gathered guests clapped and cheered as the emcees introduced them and cracked a few jokes…

MC: Even though Leigh looks stunning, we’d ask that you’d please refrain from hitting on her, guys. She’s married now, so the only person that can hit on her is Aaron.

Jackie’s Aaron: Interesting.

Me: What’s that?

J’s Aaron: Did you hear that?

Me: Yeah. It was funny. “Don’t hit on the bride.”

J’s Aaron: Not that part. The end. “Only Aaron can hit on her.”

Me: (with an uncertain smile) Yeah?

J’s Aaron: From my count, there are only three Aaron’s here… you, me and the groom. They didn’t specify which Aaron.

Me: That’s a good point. Shall we?

Jackie & Laura: Aaron! You guys are idiots.


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