Flashback Friday: High on the Hog

My mom and I travelled to Knoxville a good fifteen months before my wedding to start planning.  It was going to be a quick trip and our agenda was packed with dress shopping, visits to churches and a wide range of reception locations.  With my limited knowledge of Knoxville, I had narrowed our focus to a hotel ballroom, historic home overlooking the Smoky Mountains, a catering hall with character and a barbecue joint.

The day was long and I was getting discouraged with prices and logistics.  I knew I was going to have to make some sacrifices from my Father of the Bride fantasies, but I didn't think I'd have to settle on a reception with one bathroom or a walk along the train tracks.  So, when I entered the event space above the barbecue joint, I knew I had found a winner.  There were floor to ceiling windows on three walls with views overlooking the Tennessee River.  I wouldn't have to rent tents and there were enough bathrooms to accomodate my 100+ guest list, not to mention the amazing menu.  It was almost perfect.

I could only identify one major problem.  The hostess stand proudly sold pig hats.  Sure, I wanted my guests from California, Washington and Minnesota to get a taste of Tennessee culture, but I didn't think their first impression should be of Porky the Pig.  I let my snobby side take a backseat to the practical and signed the contracts.  When I got back to DC, Any Tom, Dick or Bobby that asked about our wedding plans would get an earnest warning and an earful of the pig hats.  I did not want anyone to think I had fooled myself into believing I had secured the Taj Mahal for the festivities.

I should have known I was asking for it. At the end of the night, our best man gave me a pig hat to celebrate. But at that point in the evening, the dj had already played Cotton Eyed Joe and Rocky Top not once, but twice. There were no airs left to be had. Four years later, I can finally repay him for his generosity.