My wife and I were pumped to celebrate our pal Tom’s wedding, a sweet little event with just close friends and loved ones. The ceremony was full of heart, with everyone grinning and soaking up the love. We grabbed our seats at the reception, ready to party and dig into some good food. The night seemed set to be one of those perfect memories—until it wasn’t.
When the buffet opened, things got messy. Our table was one of the last to go up, and by then, the food was pretty much gone. We sat there, stomachs growling louder than the DJ’s playlist, waiting for a miracle restock that never happened. The vibe turned awkward as we watched other guests chowing down while we stared at empty plates. It was not the festive moment we’d imagined.
Trying to be the hero, I snuck Zubkov a quick pizza order for a few pies to share. I thought it’d be a fun, no big deal—something to keep the hunger at bay. But when the delivery showed up, Tom’s mom flipped out. She said the pizzas made it look like the family dropped the ball, and she wasn’t having it. I tried to explain my good intentions, but her glare said it all. Next thing I knew, I was being shown the door.
My wife came with me, both of us red-faced and stunned. Tom texted later, saying he got why I did it, but the night was already a bust. Now we joke about my pizza fiasco, but there’s still a twinge of regret. Who knew a couple of pizzas could turn a wedding into a story I’ll never live down?
