A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine went to a wedding. This may sound like an every day occurrence, especially during the month of June, and really it is, but this friend hates weddings and believes marriage to be the single greatest tragedy of these, our modern times. What I mean to say is, whenever we’re at parties or out to dinner or anywhere in the general vicinity of people, and two of said people have expressed their desire to become one, my friend immediately asks them what on earth would possess them to do such a thing. And for the next forty-five minutes, while the rest of us are wriggling uncomfortably in our chairs, she interrogates said formerly happy couple until the point at which one of them gets on the phone and fires the caterer.
We’ll call this friend Patience because it is not her name, it does not describe her demeanor, and it calls to mind a young, wealthy, overpriveleged white woman, which in no way describes my friend.
My friend’s views on marriage may partially be attributed to the fact that she is a lesbian, and because of her disgust at the sight of a naked man, is denied the legal right to marry whomever she chooses. But even if Patience were allowed such a right, she wouldn’t use it. And she usually makes some very valid anti-marriage arguments.
Nevertheless, friends of hers managed to survive the inquisition and got hitched a few weeks ago in a lovely ceremony somewhere in the backwoods of Virginia.
Outdoors.
In the woods.
In June.
In Virginia.
Did I mention it was outdoors?
So I made the mistake of asking Patience how the wedding went. She unloaded. First of all, it was hot. And it being hot, she perspired through the new suit she had purchased to wear to an outdoor, formal affair in the middle of the woods, natch. Second, the ceremony lasted longer than the reception (this may have been an exaggeration). Third, in addition to being in the woods, the ceremony was actually in the middle of nowhere, two hours from Richmond, where the happy couple, Patience, and nearly all of their friends and family reside. Fourth, there were place cards on the tables, but dinner was served buffet style, and there was only one trip per person to the buffet. Patience was particularly offended by this, seeing that she had driven two hours, rented a room, bought and sweated all over a new suit, and purchased a gift for a couple who now refused to feed her. She was also befuddled by the need for place cards in light of the buffet. Fifth, the bride and groom left the reception shortly after their first dance, leaving Patience and all their friends to dance amongst themselves. And finally, there was no liquor. Had there been liquor, all previous complaints may have been compensated for – nay, may have been actually forgotten because of said liquor.
This is by no means the worst wedding horror story I have heard. It is not even the worst wedding story I have actually experienced myself. Thanks to my mother’s side of the family, to whom I lovingly refer as the Hillbillies, I’ve been to some pretty white trash weddings. I always looked forward to them with some sort of twisted excitement as something I would later have to write about.
But it raises several questions:
First, why is it people insist on holding ceremonies in places they do not live? Is this a way of weeding out the guests you really don’t want in attendance but feel obligated to invite anyway?
Second, why outdoors? An outdoor ceremony is one thing. The ceremony is relatively short, the backdrop makes for lovely pictures – the ceremony is fine. In April. When it’s cool. But when you want to whoop it up and celebrate your new coupledom with your friends, why not do it indoors? With air conditioning. And liquor.
Third, why bring all your friends together to celebrate your new life together and then ditch them, in the woods, for the comfort of your hotel room? This isn’t 1942. We all know you’ve already made the sex. What’s the rush to leave?
Anyone have answers to these questions? Anyone have your own horror to share?
No comments:
Post a Comment