We stood outside the reception area.
“This can’t be right.”
“There are like seven tables in there, and only a few more outside.”
“Crap. This was supposed to be a really BIG wedding.”
We spotted the caterer and asked for a water. As we sipped, we “smalltalked” the RSVP total out of him. Fifty-seven.
“We’re out of here,” Drea hissed under her breath. “You can’t crash anything under a hundred.”
“Ok, ok, so it would be idiotic to stay,” I admitted. “But ……. just think of the bragging rights. We can DO this. We’re the fucking Neale sisters. Sort of.”
And so we did. For one solid … hour.
Eventually the lack of a place card was becoming conspicuous and we made our escape.
But not before we got the phone numbers of the Cal State baseball team.