The passing of the roast

My small group of college friends and I have a strange tradition.

Whenever someone gets married we give them a pot roast.

It was entertaining the first time one of us got hitched as we didn't have anyway to really keep it frozen so we stuck the meat in a shoebox filled with hotel ice then wrapped in a towel (but we had to get the towel back).

I'm sure you're all wondering where this tradition started (as well as all of my old roomie's family who got to watch the ice/shoe box debacle). Well we don't have a good story at all and it's pretty much my fault.

We were a bit naughty in college and loved to pick on each other (the number of times I had my towel stolen or had cold water dumped on me can only be matched by how often we'd steal each others whiteboard markers). We had a rather, um, we'll call it weird picture that got passed back and forth from room to room (I know where it is now hidden forever, back of picture frames are good for something).

In taping this first picture on the ceiling above my best friends bed my roomie and I got to talking about weddings. More specifically the wedding of the photo's character and a close friend of his and I just blurted out "Well if they do get married then I'll send them a pot roast."

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

"Did you just say pot roast?"

"Uh yeah"

"I thought you were gonna say postcard."

"No, I said pot roast."

"Okay, why?"

Well I have no idea why. I still have no idea why, and I rather doubt I'll ever know why. But in my circle of friends it was the funniest thing ever (you probably had to be there) so now as each of us get married off we know that among all the towels, sheets, and place settings we're sure to receive a good hunk of meat.

The funniest thing of all? I don't really like pot roast.