Always the groomsman, never the groom
by Tavis Newman

One year when I was a university student, a group of friends and I initiated a savings account of sorts called the “Dating Jar.”

It was simply an empty glass jar, representing the empty state of our romantic lives – all six of us were bachelors.

The deal was that if any of us got a girlfriend during the school year, we had to put a certain amount of cash in the jar. At the end of the year, we’d use the money to go out for supper.

As far as I remember, the jar remained empty. The meal occurred, but wasn’t paid for from the dating jar.

Five years later my jar is still empty, but the cup overfloweth for many of my old friends. Most are seeing someone; some have married. I’d say they owe me big.

A week and a half ago, I attended the wedding of one of those friends – the one who initiated the dating jar.

There were two other groomsmen in the wedding party, neither of whom had been in a wedding before. They were nervous about the ordeal, wondering if they could really stand still that long in front of everyone at the church, and hoping they wouldn’t trip as they escorted the bridesmaids during the recessional.

I found their stage fright humourous. You see, this was wedding number four for me. Yup, always a groomsman, never a groom.

I’ve done it all – four times standing up, three toasts (two for brides, one for a groom), three times the M.C. at the reception, once a photographer, and once I even played “This is the Day” on my harmonica for the ceremony.

I’ve put on slide shows twice, and taught the Hustle for the crowd at a couple of wedding dances (courtesy John Travolta and Saturday Night Fever).

I’ve even caught two garters, but they don’t seem to be doing me any good.

All of this experience is great, but I can hardly put it on my resume. And I’m realizing that the costs of all these weddings are starting to add up. I’m going broke renting tuxes.

So I’ve decided to start hiring out my services. No longer will I stand up for someone for free. If you want me by your side, you’ve gotta pay the big bucks.

If you want to photograph me, you’ll have to pay by the minute. I don’t keep this body in such good shape so that you can capture it on film and splatter it across your living room walls for free!

For speeches, I’ll charge by the word. I have some tried and true stories that really get a good response. Let me relate one I told recently at my sister’s wedding in Calgary:

A great thing about having a big sister is that she was always someone to look up to and admire. I loved hanging out with her and her friends, and was honoured whenever she would ask me to be involved in any of her activities.

Once, when I was a preschooler, she had several of her friends out to the farm for her birthday. She saw me as a cheap opportunity to entertain her friends.

“Tavis, pull your pants down.”

Always wanting to please, I obliged. Perhaps getting me in trouble was meant to be part of the fun, as she immediately went and told Mom, “Tavis pulled his pants down,” as if it had been my idea, and Mom warmed that bare bum right up.

At this point in the story, I turned to my sister and said, “Seeing that so many of your friends are here again tonight…”

I walked in front of the head table to the centre, turned my backside to the crowd, looked over my shoulder at my parents, and, grabbing the waistband of my rental pants, said, “Mom, can I?”

Seriously though, it’s very special to be involved in the weddings of loved ones, and I’d be hurt if I wasn’t asked. Weddings are exhausting though, and it would be nice if someday I could be the one sitting back at the reception being admired. And the pressure is on now that I’m the only single child left in the family.

But I know I’m still young (or so I’m told), so for now I’ll hang those garters on my rearview mirror and hope to catch a glimpse of the right girl. In the meantime, would you all please join me in a toast to the bachelor.