Even before the wedding began, I had already unfairly decided that I wasn’t going to have a good time. Thank god I was wrong. My initial feeling was based on the knowledge that certain agitating people were going to be there — a very tangible reminder of why we moved under cover of darkness for the last Bancroft farm excursion — but there were enough normal people to dilute any creepiness.
The ceremony was short and sweet. The food was the best I’ve had in weeks, although my gradual recovery from viral gastroenteritis meant that I could only have half of the portions served. The company at the dinner table was friendly and open enough to address everyone sitting (Tolstoy wrote well about such a difficulty in Anna Karenina when he describes “a small table with persons present, like the steward and the architect, belonging to a completely different world, struggling not to be overawed by an elegance to which they were unaccustomed, and unable to sustain a large share in the general conversation”). Aside from an idiotic analogy about asparagus, the speeches were generally well-written; not too trite, and all the more poignant from the emotion with which they were spoken.
Aaron was there as my wingman, ensuring a good time. Jenn was there as my date, making the guys jealous. I even saw Christine, although we never had a chance to talk. Apparently, I missed every time she waved at us, so she may have thought that I was ignoring or avoiding her, which may be why she flicked my ear as she was walking by my table. I still feel bad enough about missing her last birthday party.
Until dinner there was an open bar, with Corona and even Guinness on tap, as well as a strawberry margarita machine that could make them like smoothies. After dinner was the dancing, and by the time the we were through a dozen or so songs, it was already late, so we headed home.
I just can’t stand weddings I hated then from the time I worked in a catering business, and saw how weddings aren’t really about love and union, but about Solomon filets and making your mom happy cause she can brag to relative you don’t even know about how well you were doing.
Being single now, weddings seem like an insult, like I’m getting a bunch of girls going “I got something you don’t have…” I already went to 2 this year and I’ve got another 2 to go to this year.
The rescue comes in my attempt to do something crazy, sexual and wild at all of them while managing to still keep those people talking to me the next day.
The first one this year, I went in a short dress with no underwear, the second I got drunk enough to give the bridegroom’s best friend a blowjob in the bushes…
Next one’s September 12, I’ll have to think of something crazy but discrete, it’s a work event.
Apparently, I’ve been going to the wrong weddings.
hey you dumb fuck…i like asparagus!
Nothing wrong with analogies about vegetables. What’s wrong is when people make judgements and comments that aren’t necessarily fair. We’re all allowed to have opinions, of course, but what ever happened to being nice. Especially in public display.
There’s nothing wrong with analogies about vegetables when they’re relevant and well-written. There’s something wrong with analogies about vegetables that are supposed to be one of the defining moments of a wedding, that should be unique according to the situation, but end up completely generic and applicable to anything.
If what I say isn’t fair, then every single editorial ever written isn’t fair. Every critical review, good or bad, isn’t fair. Fair doesn’t enter into it because life itself isn’t fair, or as someone once said, “If the world were so organized that everything has to be fair, no living creature could survive for a day. The birds would be forbidden to eat worms, and everyone’s self-interest would have to be served.”
And this may be public, but it’s still my domain. Not using names, and not mentioning many other things, was being nice. Trust me.