You'll be Vince Vaughn, I'll be Owen Wilson

My wife and I are currently on an anniversary weekend away from home. It's our first weekend without our Little Ditty along. When we pulled into town, my lovely wife noticed a hotel sign that was congratulating a new bride and groom. She said that crashing a wedding dance was on her "bucket list," so we hit the nearest thrift store to find clothes nice enough so we could blend in.

We made our way to the celebratory hotel around 9:15 pm - lookin' fly in our new used clothes. As soon as we turned down the hall toward the ballroom, we realized that our clothes were all wrong, and that cowboy hats would've been much more blendy.

Things started out slowly. We couldn't overcome our fear of getting caught or bounced.

Or so it would seem.

We effectively made our way through the sea of cowboy hats and hung out by the cash bar. I ordered a Cherry Coke for myself and a Shirley Temple for my lady. We found two seats near the dance floor and pretended to belong. After about 5 minutes, the carbonation had lowered our inhibitions, and we decided it was time to dance. We were now officially crashing this beast.

I really wanted to participate in the dollar dance, but as luck (and my wife's conscience) would have it, I hadn't come up with a good enough story about who I was when the bride would ask. I ran my bulletproof cover story by my date, and she rejected it as "too risky." I don't know what is too risky about "I'm friends with the beverage pourer," but we concluded that it may backfire. On top of that, we had no singles - just a five and a ten. I would only pony up that kind of cash for one bride, and she was with me. We watched the dollar dance from the safety of the front row.

We were still able to make our presence known, though. We had our picture taken with the white disposable cameras on our table. Our smiling faces are documented in this couple's life forever. Feels good.

The one hiccup of the night was when we grabbed a wedding program from the guest book table and saw two large security guards coming right at us. The jig was up. This was for real, and we were caught.

Or so it would seem.

They walked right by us. Apparently we had blended in well enough to pass as legitimate guests. We hit the dance floor again and shook it like a Polaroid all night long.

The whole evening was amazing. There were candies, bouquet tosses, garter auctions, a live band, great dances with my wife - and, according to our calculations, well over 40 cowboy hats in attendance.

Well, My Lady, you can cross "Crash a wedding" off your list. Oh, and future brides and grooms, consider yourselves warned: We will be doing this again.