I generally don’t look forward to weddings. My usual experience with weddings consists of receiving a fanciful yet impersonal invitation in the mail. The embossed text proudly reads, “You are cordially invited to attend our wedding in Greece”. Oh really? You want me to plan a holiday, stay at some overpriced hotel, and drop some coin on a gift, just to attend your precious three-hour party? Um, no. Plan the ceremony down the street and I might attend. I mean it’s not like you have relatives in Greece, or any business being married there. You just fell into a senile fog while dining at a local Greek restaurant and mused “wouldn’t it be romantic to be married in Greece?” Problem is, you naively thought we’d all share your enthusiasm for this exorbitant fantasy. Newsflash! We don’t.
The other irritating thing about weddings is that the bride and groom never really give you the time of day, do they? They’re blissfully enclosed in their “I love you, no I love you” bubble, and wouldn’t know if you’d attended or not. It’s all “me, me, me” at weddings. You barely even receive a “thank you” for sitting through two tedious hours of speeches praising the couple’s combined unimpressive accomplishments.
Another thing I don’t understand is the gift registry. As if remote locations and hotel fees weren’t burdensome enough, now you’re dictating the gifts you’d like from some “approved” list, and I notice there’s nothing on it under $25. Little bit brazen aren’t we? I mean, I’ve got three bloody Cuisinart blenders sitting in a cupboard from my own wedding. You can’t tell me you’ll never make delicious homemade guacamole or refreshing Granitas. One of those blenders would make a perfect gift, but alas it’s not on your dear list. So I’m forced yield to your damn registry.
Then again, a gift registry would have come in handy when I received a “charitable” gift for my own wedding. A charitable gift is when a so-called mate gives you a voucher claiming that charity has been given in your honor. In this case, a goat was delivered to a needy African family. Yippy! Is that supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Do you even know me? Let’s explore this scenario for a moment. I’m not happy because, well, I don’t have a friggin gift. The African family is pissed because now they’ve got another mouth to feed. And the goat is almost certainly upset about its new home where it’ll be expected to survive on steady diet of dust and nail clippings.
But I digress. Back to the registry. I’ve trekked downtown to an overcrowded, over-air-conditioned department store on a Sunday to spend another $70 on a useless “candy dish” (which incidentally, was the cheapest thing on the stupid list.) As I enter the ceremony with gift in hand, I’m met by a stone-faced usher who doesn’t even greet me. He simply points to a table with an excessive pile of wedding gifts upon it. I place my small box beside the heap of wrapping paper and it feels like tossing a stone at the foot of a mountain. It’s another moment along the path of belittlement that surely lies ahead.
No doubt it’ll be a long night filled with forced conversation with strangers and a seat next to some old fella with a flatulence problem.
Did I mention I don’t enjoy weddings?
