Oh, it’s June, why not keep yammering about weddings? I’m very fond of weddings. Unless the parents of the bride are devout Methodists or very tight-fisted, they offer a delightful excuse to get completely tanked on someone else’s buck. And, usually, you can count on all of your best drinkin’ pals dancing attendance.
The Washington paper (yes, I know there are two, but does any sentient life form read the Moonie paper? And don’t any of you come back telling me you caught your pet slime mold reading it) has a great advice columnist, Carolyn Hax. Carolyn is cool because she doesn’t lace anything with saccharine, but her column is mostly funny thanks to the entirely clue-free people that write to her. Since she’s oriented towards twenty-somethings, I don’t know why I’m surprised, but apparently my age discrimination is correct: people under 40 just weren’t brought up right. Having been raised by the Free To Be You ‘N Me generation, they don’t even know that you really ARE supposed to say “please” and “thank you”, much less which fork to use and when. Since, however, they’re of marriageable age, a lot of them are writing to ask about wedding etiquette.
One of Carolyn’s pet terms is “Bridezilla”. We’ve all known a Bridezilla or three. She’s the one that has to have THE fanciest, THE most romantic, THE perfect thing in every way, and if her friends and family don’t cooperate, she eats their heads. The demands of Bridezilla range from the funny (Do I have to wear something blue? I hate blue!) to the plain evil (Why can’t we ask our friends to chip in for a really special honeymoon instead of giving us gifts?).
Problem is that people now believe in the idea that weddings are “Joe and Kim’s Special Day”. True, to a certain extent–but only in that they’re the star attraction of what has been, since time immemorial, something of a variety show. The whole thing is calculated as a celebration, and that means everybody, not just the lead act. You, as Blushing Bride, deserve what you get, which should be nothing if you’re a demanding, whiny little tart. You as Anxious Groom, on the other hand, don’t really have to do much except smile and nod a lot, so just do it politely and do not under any circumstances sleep with a bridesmaid. That urban legend’s been done already.
What Bridezilla does not realize, or is perhaps too dull and unimaginative to realize, is that the Perfect Day will not stand out in people’s minds. It’s the unexpected that will be savored for years. We don’t remember the things that went according to plan; we do remember the groom getting lost after the reception, and the drunk guest talking to the staircase at the Hotel Jefferson. We remember the wedding cake that got eaten as pot munchies after the reception, and the wedding for which six of us were so late that on the way into the church we passed the bride thirty seconds before she walked up the aisle. And we certainly remember the wretched “day after” that we had to buy pillows for the trip home and steal trash cans from the hotel room in case of “discomfort”.
Sexual positions in lunar orbit (I'm still determined to find the pervies.)
These are the stories that make a good wedding. A happy wedding is not prefaced by a bride who has just infuriated her mother, aunt and six closest friends, which is what happens when you decide to stomp Tokyo while wearing white tulle.
Now, where’s the champagne cocktail?
The Washington paper (yes, I know there are two, but does any sentient life form read the Moonie paper? And don’t any of you come back telling me you caught your pet slime mold reading it) has a great advice columnist, Carolyn Hax. Carolyn is cool because she doesn’t lace anything with saccharine, but her column is mostly funny thanks to the entirely clue-free people that write to her. Since she’s oriented towards twenty-somethings, I don’t know why I’m surprised, but apparently my age discrimination is correct: people under 40 just weren’t brought up right. Having been raised by the Free To Be You ‘N Me generation, they don’t even know that you really ARE supposed to say “please” and “thank you”, much less which fork to use and when. Since, however, they’re of marriageable age, a lot of them are writing to ask about wedding etiquette.
One of Carolyn’s pet terms is “Bridezilla”. We’ve all known a Bridezilla or three. She’s the one that has to have THE fanciest, THE most romantic, THE perfect thing in every way, and if her friends and family don’t cooperate, she eats their heads. The demands of Bridezilla range from the funny (Do I have to wear something blue? I hate blue!) to the plain evil (Why can’t we ask our friends to chip in for a really special honeymoon instead of giving us gifts?).
Problem is that people now believe in the idea that weddings are “Joe and Kim’s Special Day”. True, to a certain extent–but only in that they’re the star attraction of what has been, since time immemorial, something of a variety show. The whole thing is calculated as a celebration, and that means everybody, not just the lead act. You, as Blushing Bride, deserve what you get, which should be nothing if you’re a demanding, whiny little tart. You as Anxious Groom, on the other hand, don’t really have to do much except smile and nod a lot, so just do it politely and do not under any circumstances sleep with a bridesmaid. That urban legend’s been done already.
What Bridezilla does not realize, or is perhaps too dull and unimaginative to realize, is that the Perfect Day will not stand out in people’s minds. It’s the unexpected that will be savored for years. We don’t remember the things that went according to plan; we do remember the groom getting lost after the reception, and the drunk guest talking to the staircase at the Hotel Jefferson. We remember the wedding cake that got eaten as pot munchies after the reception, and the wedding for which six of us were so late that on the way into the church we passed the bride thirty seconds before she walked up the aisle. And we certainly remember the wretched “day after” that we had to buy pillows for the trip home and steal trash cans from the hotel room in case of “discomfort”.
Sexual positions in lunar orbit (I'm still determined to find the pervies.)
These are the stories that make a good wedding. A happy wedding is not prefaced by a bride who has just infuriated her mother, aunt and six closest friends, which is what happens when you decide to stomp Tokyo while wearing white tulle.
Now, where’s the champagne cocktail?
posted by Daniel | 2:49 PM
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