Dum, Dum, Dee, Dum

It happens this weekend. We have a wedding to go to. I’m not a huge fan of weddings. This, despite the free hooch. Nope, I always found them to be somewhat awkward, strained occasions.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Hi, how ya doing?”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

 “Love the dress.”

Yep, for me at least, it’s five hours of my life I’m not getting back – six if you go to the ceremony. Heck, I wasn’t all that big a fan of my wedding, though I was routinely distracted by the million or so details the groom has to take care of.

Yes, you unbetrothed out there, you’re big job on the wedding day is to be ‘The Man’ in more ways than one. You gotta pay the band, the limo folk, tip the host/hostess, etc. and all that’s before you get to the honeymoon suite. But of course this is better than actually going to a wedding where you get to spend this time chatting with people you probably will never see again in your life and eating an unremarkable dinner.

Now C, my partner in crime, loves weddings. She’s figuring out what dress to wear, what gift to give, how much room is left on the digital camera. How said camera will fit into purse the size of a walnut. Oh, yeah that’s what the husband is for, she’s thinking. Anyway, the only good thing about this wedding is it takes place on a Saturday. The self-centered idiots who schedule weddings on a Sunday in the fall should be cursed with bad divorce attorneys. The only worse couples are those who schedule the wedding on a holiday because they got such a “good deal.” Thanks, buddy.

Now, we travel to Edison for this wedding. Not the most soulless place in Jersey at least as long as Iselin’s on the map. I’ll have a full report on the cocktail wieners next time and for all my unmarried friends out there, two words of advice. E Lope.



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