A young couple blew into OTA country on a Saturday afternoon. They sprinted to the bar and sat down on stools. The man announced loudly, “She’s off the market boys!”
She was wearing a white wedding dress and black cat eye glasses. He wore jeans and a Red Sox t-shirt.
The bartender came up to the bride and groom. He ordered three Jello shots and a vodka cranberry. She ordered a shot of something and a vodka cranberry.
I took all this in from a few feet away, drinking the worst craft malt liquor I’d ever tasted.
They had escaped after the wedding at a nearby grange, for a mad dash into OTA country to get fucked up before the they had to cut the cake and the band started up.
Married in a grange! I want to get married in a grange! I want to serve the guests cold cracklin’ Hamm’s and two kinds of chili, vegetarian and elk, with lots of cornbread to sop it up. No cake. Just cannabis cupcakes. A hillbilly band, too.
The couple ordered another round.
No way they were consummating tonight.
Welcome to married life.