I personally am a believer in the precept that all men are created equal. I'll admit they don't remain equal very long, but that is beside the point.
In defense of my convictions, I have always sought friends among the underprivileged brotherhood sometimes scathingly referred to as bums, tramps, screwballs, and I've found them, on the whole, to be pretty swell people.
But to get back—I answered Uncle Peter rather stiffly. "My friends are my own affair and are not to be discussed."
"No offense. My question had to do with an idea I got rather suddenly. Will any of these—ah, friends, be present at the reception?"
"It is entirely possible."
"Then I could easily infiltrate—"
"You could what?"
"Never mind, my boy. It is not important. I'll be indeed honored to attend your wedding."
At that moment there was a muffled commotion from beyond a closed door to our left; the sound of heels kicking on the panel and an irate female voice:
"They gone yet? There's cobwebs in this damn closet—and it's dark!"