On Weddings

On Weddings

Figure 1: It doesn’t get that bad for me to attend a wedding, but still.


I don’t want to hear about anyone’s wedding.

What people wore. Where the groom’s dinner was. Where the reception was. What kind of music they had. What kind of cake. What kind of bouquets everyone carried. How they lit a unity candle or a made Zen garden sand squiggles or exchanged rings or tattoos or serenaded each other.

Unless the bride and groom decide to exchange body fluids up there on the altar, I just don’t care. Don’t invite me. I’ll send you a gift online and you can check one less dinner to buy and I won’t have to sit in a hotel banquet room or a decorated barn or the American Legion Hall and pretend to enjoy meeting your parents’ old neighbors back when you lived in WhereverTheHellville.

Be in love. Be loving. Have babies. Merge all your silverware in one drawer. Deal with the issues of your on-going monogamous relationship however you will. That’s the main thing. But it’s all your business. I can send you a place setting to wish you well with it but anything more? No.

To paraphrase Lil’ Wayne: I can’t be all romantical with you bitches every second of my life. Honest to god.


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