When the key turns in the lock, Gil takes his feet off the coffee table and lowers the volume. Before long, Oscar stands in the archway to the living room, shaking his head at Gil.

"I can't believe you stood me up."

Gil sits up. "I had that thing!"

Oscar rolls his eyes, nodding. "Right. ‘That thing'."

"I did!" Gil insists, trying not to smile. He's about to crack, so he takes the lead. "So how was it?"

"How was it?" Oscar holds his palms up in a lame gesture. "She put Michael in her wedding."

Gil frowns. "Why --?"

"I have no idea." Oscar sinks onto the couch next to him, heaving one of his old-man sighs, and unties his shoes. He tosses them over the arm of the couch, where they thump off the ficus tree onto the carpet. His socks and tie follow them.

Gil stares at him. "Classy."

Oscar settles back, lays one arm over his eyes. "I don't care," he groans.

"Oh boy. Drink?"

"Yes, please."

Gil pats his knee. "You got it." He moves to the bar. "Did Phyllis survive?"

"Phyllis looked lovely from beginning to end. She was gracious and glowing. I don't know how she did it."

"She was a bride on her wedding day." Gil hands Oscar his drink. "Not much gets through that kind of armor."

Oscar sips. "Mm. Thank you."

"Here," Gil pats his own lap, "put your feet up."

Oscar does, and groans when Gil begins kneading one heel.

"So... play-by-play..."

Oscar's eyes fly open. "Oh my god, so, I get there, and I'm pretty sure Michael was throwing up in the bushes."

Gil frowns.

"Yeah. That's how it started. But then... guess how I was seated?"

"By Kelly?" Gil ventures, really thinking, By Ryan?

"Between Dwight... and Creed."

"Oh."

"Yeah! So I had Dwight on my left, asking if this person or that person looked suspicious --"

"Suspicious?"

"-- and Creed, on my right, offering me beans from his pocket."

Beans? Gil mouths.

"It was like I was in some kind of bizarro sandwich. And then Michael, who I still can't believe was in the wedding, managed to annoy the father of the bride out of his wheelchair to walk Phyllis down the aisle. Which, I guess, in retrospect, was pretty nice, but oh man. Oh, and then? He interrupted the ceremony. Twice."

"Why?"

"Oh: to announce the Happy Couple."

"Twice?"

"He jumped the gun the first time."

"Wow," whispers Gil.

"Oh, that's nothing, compared to the reception. First, he ran around, literally pulling people's forks out of their mouths, insisting the chicken was undercooked --"

Gil blinks.

"It was fish."

"Of course."

"And then, when Kevin's band started playing -- badly -- Michael tried to get me to dance with him to ‘King of Pain'." To Gil's confused look, Oscar explains, "He thought it was ‘King of Spain'."

"Oooh, because you're --"

"Yeah. So I sat in the toilet for that song."

Gil squeezes Oscar's foot. "Poor thing."

"Are you kidding? It was the most peaceful five minutes of the evening. Because then? During the toasts? Michael decides he's going to make a speech, right, and they let him -- I know -- so he introduces himself, like, four times, and makes just the lamest jokes, and then says Phyllis was easy in high school."

"No!"

Oscar shakes his head. "Gil? It was a nightmare. A living, breathing nightmare in a teal vest."

"Tell me --"

"Oh yeah. Bob threw him out." He sighs again. "Tell me I won't have to go to another one."

Gil chuckles and shrugs. "That depends. Who caught the bouquet?"

"Toby's date. She seemed nice," Oscar concedes.

"Aw, good for Toby. Second chance."

"Yeah," he nods. "Good for Toby.... Hey."

Gil looks up. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening to me gripe."

Gil smiles. "No problem." He leans over and kisses Oscar. "What say we call it a night?"

"Gladly." Oscar carries his glass to the sink. "Hey, how was your thing?"

"What thing?" Gil realizes too late what Oscar's asking, and his mouth is barely open when Oscar pops into the kitchen doorway, pointing at him.

"I knew it!"

"What --?"

"I knew you didn't have a thing!"

Gil can't help but laugh. "I did! I swear --"

"You swear. Unbelievable. Oh, hey! Guess who asked about you?"

"Who?"

"Kelly. I'm thinking maybe I should just give her your cell number --"

"No-no-no. Don't --"

"Admit you didn't have a thing."

Gil slumps. "I didn't have a thing." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

Oscar snorts. "Why? Because you made an excuse? That was just smart; I should've done the same thing." He starts walking toward the bedroom. "You know who looked happy tonight?"

Gil follows. "Who's that?"

"Jim and Karen."

"Karen?"

"Yeah, you know, the new --"

Gil holds up his hand. "Doesn't matter. Ain't gonna happen."

Oscar stops and turns around, his eyebrows raised.

Gil puts an arm around his shoulders and propels him down the hall again. "Have I got a story for you."