My indispensible wife and I had just staged the perfectly executed small, intimate wedding--with only our closest and dearest friends and pointedly EXCLUDING all disapproving family members!--in the secluded and beautiful hills of Ojai, Ca. I had worn my ancestral kilt for the occasion, gleefully mooning the assembled when pressed as to what a Scotsman wears under his 'skirt', and the Lady appeared in a skillfully reworked silk nightgown, come outrageously sensuous wedding dress. It was every bit as storybook as our romance had been. The following evening, after an idyllic day of leisurely shopping, outdoor bistros and exploring the charming little town, we arrived in high spirits at the reception which our friends had insisted upon giving in our honor. This was held at the magnificent home of the couple in our group who actually LIVED there, in paradise. Hands were vigorously pumped, backs were slapped, demure hugs and chaste cheek kisses were exchanged before premium quality joints (which I declined) were lit up all 'round and I was immediately plied with single malt scotch, then my idea of the true nectar of the gods. Dinner was sumptuous and my glass was NEVER allowed to remain empty for long. Can you see this coming? I didn't! Everything was glorious until someone suggested that we all peel out of our clothes and repair to the spacious backyard hot tub for a soak. I hopped in with the rest of them, suddenly surrounded by more nubile young bodies than any newly married man has a right to be exposed to, my eyes glazed over and I instantly sank to the bottom unconscious. The next several hours mercifully remain a complete blank to this day, although I once caught a glimpse of some pictures of an evilly leering me cutting the cake with one hand and trying valiantly to open my wife's blouse with the other, which have long-since mysteriously disappeared from our photo collection. Long story short, I'm told that they pulled me up, wrung me out and that we all went on with the party. My memorable consciousness came swimming back to me many hours later as I stood swaying in the open country kitchen and my beautiful bride came squirming seductively into my eager arms, drew my face to hers and unceremoniously kissed me passionately. I willingly returned the favor, grabbing up a generous double handful of her fabulous behind into the bargain and was well on my way to 'running the bases' when I was distracted by the appearance at my elbow of the quizzical, yet vaguely amused face of...my wife?! Wait a minute! If THAT'S my wife over there, then who the hell is THIS in my face?! Party over, I was taken home to sleep it all off, wisely left to ponder my predicament until the morning. After a long shower, several gallons of strong black coffee and enough aspirin to kill a rampaging army of livers, I launched into the most heartfelt sales pitch for forgiveness to ever pass from the lips of a man in the history of the breed. To my astonishment my implacable Lady was completely understanding of my horror at discovering what a lethal mix were a hot tub and a fifth of good scotch. She was likewise sympathetic to my contention that I thought the other girl was HER; their appearances WERE similar and my visual acuity IS next to non-existent! The only tense moment occurred later that day when my wife questioned the other girl as to her part in the abortive escapade and was met with the simple response, "I just thought he WANTED me!" The wife's hooded eyes instantly swiveled to me for verification and I shook my head enthusiastically, not daring to speak at that point. I'm just thankful that I didn't encounter the little minx in a back bathroom or something, instead of the very public kitchen area. Incidentally, the rest of our marriage was blissfully free from this particular sort of excitement. I am, after all, a one-woman dog.