As much as I love Dublin, it really is a small place.
Sometimes you feel like you know everyone.
It’s impossible to get away with any indiscretions.
One little mistake and half of Dublin is scowling at you.
We’re not always the most forgiving bunch us Dubs.
So it really is nice to get invited to Colin’s wedding.
He and I have been friends since boarding school.
Now we’re drinking buddies and occasional fuck buddies.
Or at least we were.
When he first told me he was getting married I was a little surprised, but happy for him.
It’s not unusual to marry your ‘beard’.
Not in Ireland, anyway.
I was caught giving him one last fuck at his stag.
It was the very least I could do.
For old times’ sake.
The shit hit the fan.
I got the blame.
He was drunk, I took advantage……..
Blah, blah, blah!
His wife-to-be even rang me and called me a home wrecker and a faggot.
I sucked it up. Like a good friend.
So anyway, looks like that they have patched things up and the wedding is still on.
And I’m still invited!
Will I go?
I’ve known him for 25 years.
And when they break up I’ll be there for him.
Would you let your friend marry?