Slice Of Life

[theweaselking]

You know, I was going to step up here, open my piece of paper, and begin reading: "Ladies and Gentlemen. If elected, I plan to make some serious changes. To aid the environment, I promise to stop everyone in Hull from going to the toilet. That'll teach them."

I was then going to pause, to look down at my paper, mumble something about that being next week, flip it over, and begin the real speech.

I'm not going to do that.

The reason I'm not going to do that is because, in my foolish and misspent youth, last weekend, I told Pete about this plan, and he stole my joke. That's right, on my wedding day, as my best man, he stole my best joke.

Pete, apparently we can't take you anywhere. You're like if Calvin was raised Amish.

So, lacking a joke, I'm afraid I'm simply going to have to go back to the unrelenting, unbroken absolute seriousness that I'm so well-known for amongst everyone here.

A writer named Chris Onstad said recently, and I'm paraphrasing, that marriage is a terrifying prospect because the best case, the best *possible* result, is that you're going to spend the rest of your life with this one person, grow up, grow old, and die together. You're promising to do this, and after 50 years, what's left? What will you have to show for it?

I read that, and I said "Wow. I get to spend the next 50 years with this person? I get to grow up, grow old, and die together with the most wonderful woman in the world? Where do I sign up?"

You don't actually have to answer that question, I already found that out on my own.

So here we are, almost at the end of the festivities. Frances, I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I propose the last toast of the day: To the next 50 years, and more.

[drink]

Although, for the record? I've kept the packaging. If I don't get the full 50, you're going back to the shop, and I'm getting a refund.

Comments

[torrain.livejournal.com]

You misunderstand. 'twas not the cup diamond she was concerned with, but a far more dark and terrifying possibility.

There is... a creature.

This creature is a monstrosity of selfishness and irrationality. It thinks nothing of demanding that its (formerly) loved ones spend weeks learning to dance waltzes in perfect swirly patterns. It will casually inform a best friend that they are to be in the wedding party not because of the closeness of the relationship or the long shared history, but because someone else in the wedding party died and that friend has the right body shape. It will burst into a shrieking shark-toothed maelstrom and kick people out of the wedding *on the morning of the wedding* when they ask why makeup is being redone three or four times. It will decide on a dress it loves and then scream at people for telling them they look lovely in that dress because those people didn't want to spend two or three hours cajoling them into choosin the dress they already liked, and they always imagined choosing their wedding dress after hours of cajoling, never mind that the store is ten minutes from closing. It is also perfectly happy to expect thousands or tens of thousands of dollars to be spent on it, and to scream at parents who fail to do so that they are cruel and monstrous failures.

(This creature is also, I suspect, the reason the really nice hotels only do weddings during the three summer months of the year. There is a limit to how much said hotels will put up with.)

This creature is called Bridezilla.

The nice lady setting out the glasses probably just wanted to avoid being screamed at by some entitlement-laden bitch in white tulle and crinolines for fifteen minutes, which would have been entirely possible if the entitlement-laden bitch showed up and things weren't picture-perfect.

Now, I mean, Bridezilla wasn't at the wedding. From all the accounts I've heard (I don't trust my judgement on this for obvious reasons), she wasn't around during the wedding planning either.

But she *could* have been.

So I can kind of see where the cup lady was coming from.