288. When in Texas, do as the British do

Ronnie managed to lock it up, and he and Shanna arrived on time with their party pants on. My parents' house was packed with my favorite people and the tables were lined with my favorite post-hangover edibles: cookie dough dip with graham crackers (thanks, Pinterest!), chili cheese dip and chips, dill dip and bread crumbles, fruit with yogurt dip, and an assortment of chocolate squares with white mint, caramel and dark chocolate filling. 

"So, show me where this wedding is taking place!" everyone asked as they came through the door. I took them out to the backyard one by one and walked through the loosely planned logistics. 

"We'll stand under this tree, right here in front of the pool," I said. "The LED balloons will float over the water, creating the backdrop. Marvin will officiate right here. I'll use that sidewalk as my aisle," I pointed to the sidewalk that leads from the garage along the side of my house and down along the pool. "And everyone will sit here." I fanned my arm out toward the green grass in front of me. I wasn't exactly sure we could fit 60 chairs there, but I wasn't exactly sure we couldn't. 

"Oh, and the snow cone truck will be parked right there, just outside the gate."

"You're going to have a snow cone truck??" they exclaimed. 

"Yes, it's going to be hot as balls outside. I don't want anyone passing out. And, yes, there will be bottles of rum and vodka conveniently located next to the snow cone truck for those who'd like an adult snow cone."

Their eyes lit up. But I could top that. 

"And the British food truck will be parked right there. Or maybe we'll pull it up in the driveway?"

"A BRITISH FOOD TRUCK??"

Yes, just months before I was to marry the British love of my life, Dallas got its first British food truck. Coincidence? Methinks not.  

The moment I caught wind of the Three Lions truck, I Facebooked, tweeted and social media-stalked the shit out of them, begging them to cater my wedding. Surprisingly, Scott and Cameron Bonfield, the adorable British brothers who own the truck, were just as excited about the opportunity as I was. Cayden and I had plans to meet them the following week for a taste test. 

Only my parents lacked the food truck enthusiasm.

"Wait, you want a roach coach at your wedding?" my dad said, unable to control his laughter. "Oh, man, outdoor Texas wedding with beer pong and a taco truck. This is too good!"

I let him catch his breath before I jumped on the defense.

"It's NOT a roach coach! And they don't sell tacos. Food trucks are cool now, did you know that? And this one is a British one! Cayden and his mates will have a piece of home here."

He had a good laugh, and in the end we chalked it up to a generation gap, my generation being on the winning side of that gap. Everyone at the party under the age of 30 was psyched about the food truck. And with this sign on their truck, how could they not?

Aside from the Three Lions truck, there was one more British-inspired wedding detail I had my heart set on. It was brought to my attention that there was a London-style Double Decker bus parked at Three Sheets, a bar across the street from Shanna and Ronnie's house. And what do you know, the bus is available for parties. Coincident? Fate.