Big Pimpin'

So the other day I was sitting in The Cheesecake Factory at the mall, squeezed between the flower girl and the best man at my cousin's rehearsal dinner.

It had been two days since I flew home from The Adventure and I was looking at my super-sized plate of pasta and 32-ounce bottomless 7UP wondering how things could get more American when the Best Man leaned over to me and said, 'You know, my wife and I are kind of scandalous.'

Wink.

In my book, this is both an excellent and creepy way to start a conversation.

'Oh really? Do you have a young girl living in a backyard tomb that you've indoctrinated as part of your religious cult that worships brussel sprouts and cottage cheese?'

'Not exactly… but you're close.'

They weren't running from a Las Vegas bounty hunter. They hadn't ever been molested by aliens. They weren't trafficking orphans out of Lesotho to farm hydroponic rhubarb. Frankly, how interesting could a woodwind musician and a clinical psychologist be?

'I'm plum out of ideas, man. What's your scandal?'

He got real quiet and told me he'd have to whisper it in my ear, and nodded to the 9-year-old to my left.

'I'm dating my wife's girlfriend.'

Umm… what? I laughed it off, like I hear this sort of confession every time I order penne primavera, whatevs. Across the table his wife, also the Matron of Honor, gave me the same wink.

'What's with the winks you guys?'

'And I have another girlfriend, but she has another boyfriend, too. They are all my people. I care so much about my people.'

Okay, this was infinitely more interesting than my overdue parking tickets theory.

Confused, I asked to see a flow chart. Instead, he showed me photos of His People together in a Seattle park.

There are five members of His People: the Best Man, his wife, their mutual girlfriend, another girlfriend of the Best Man, and her boyfriend. They were posed couple by couple, with one girl sitting in the middle sort of looking up dejectedly at the others embracing, probably kicking herself for not signing up for a partner on family photo day.

That's how His People, um, swing it. Heh. You have to calendar which night you want a certain partner, and stick to it. Otherwise, there could be 'issues'.

'Well, sometimes there is jealousy, but it doesn't happen very often. Don't worry, you'll get to meet the girls tomorrow - Bob can't make it, unfortunately.' He nudged me in the arm. Then he gave me The Look.

You know The Look. It's the one that means, 'I want you to join my polyamorous world of fantasy fiction-loving theatre people, hope you have your Grendle's Modor costume in your backpack.'

Oh. My. God.

The Big Love crew was coming to the wedding? The one in my mother's backyard? Did she know? Once she did, what words would The Diplomat come up with to make everyone more okay with the medieval swingers club congregating by the hydrangeas?

This was going to be... awesome!

I sat with my brother, B, and pointed out all the players in His People during the ceremony.

'So that's Big Pimpin'?' he asked, pointing out the Best Man who was bedecked in a dapper Shakespearean suit, sweating in the 82-degree summer sun. He fit in fine with the ye olde theme to the bridal party - even the groom wore a top hat and black velveteen cape. It was fab.

'Wait, so that guy has three chicks here?' Brother B was trying to wrap his head around the implications.

'No, they aren't all lovers, like not all at once. I don't think. I don't really know, but can we talk about me? What am I supposed to say when they ask me to visit Poly-wood?'

'No offense, Jules, but you're not their type. You're not a Wiccan or whatever, and you don't even read Harry Potter.'

I followed His People around the reception, trying to suss out who had signed up for whom that day. Girlfriend One was a fair-skinned redhead who stole some snuggles from the Matron of Honor in the living room. Girlfriend Two had kinkier curls and the same morose sort of demeanor in person as she did posing solo in the family photo. Somebody needs a hug.

Dinner, cake, dancing, then pouf - the whole night had passed without any more winks or Looks. I won't lie and say I wasn't offended - don't I look like plural wife material? Maybe Girlfriend One and Two realized I was too mainstream for their alternative.

They all piled into their minivan and drove off. The Diplomat - blissfully ignorant - said, 'Doesn't your cousin just have the nicest friends? I'd like to be a part of that group.'

'Really mom? You'll want to rephrase that. They're pretty scandalous.'