Altar egos
On Saturday I have to attend two weddings. At 11:30 a.m., my former roommate of three years, Courtney, will be getting married. Then at 6 p.m., one of my best friends from high school, Crystal, is getting married.
I always thought that Jerry Seinfeld bit about weddings was very funny. If you're not familiar, Jerry points out that no one likes going to weddings. Because when we get the invitation, it's like "Oh, GOD. Another Saturday ruined." And it's totally true. Innocent citizens, by way of social guilting, are obligated to spend one of their hard-earned days off sweating outside in the noonday sun in church clothes and talking to the people they spent most of high school trying to avoid. What did I ever do to you?
Don't get me wrong. I wish you every happiness and I have great respect and reverence for the institution of marriage. But your wedding day? Not interesting. Unless of course you happen to be the benevolent Maleys, who were kind enough to provide champagne for the attendees during their ceremony. I had my own private drinking game: every time we bow in prayer, knock back a flute of bubbly. Amen!
I know you guys have better things to do on Saturdays. I know you prefer jeans to dress pants. I know there's nothing more painful for you than watching old people do the electric slide. I know you don't have the extra money to buy me a blender. I know there's no one you'd like to see less than that one guy who played on the baseball team with you who always gave you noogies and boasted about the size of his penis. That's why you'll never be put through any of this on my watch. Some call it eloping. I call it charity.
April
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