This weekend I was in Reno to attend a quickie chapel wedding, just two weeks before my own. I couldn’t stop crying at the ceremony. I was just sobbing uncontrollably. By the end I was standing in a pool of my own tears. I’ve never been so emotional in my life.
But none of it had to do with the bride and groom. I was bawling because the entire affair cost less than I paid in gas money to drive to Reno. My own upcoming wedding will cost – and I’m rounding off here – somewhere in the neighborhood between “a shitload” and whatever it cost to occupy Iraq. And the day after this expense, we will be no more married than the Reno couple. You’d think that the extra money would make us somehow extra married, or we’d get the deluxe version, as in “I now pronounce you man and wife, plus Yvette the handmaiden.”
And don’t get me started about the planning effort. I’ve spent about two man-weeks so far just answering phone calls from invitees about what the weather will be and what they should wear. At the Reno wedding, I wore shorts. The guy next to me from the previous half-hour wedding had a mullet and a white jacket. To my left was family friend Joey, wearing a t-shirt with a colorful word writ huge on the back. I can’t tell you the word in this family blog, but it started with M and ended with rfucker. That might qualify as a first for wedding attire. Joey explained that he didn’t see the point in changing his shirt for a wedding that would last ten minutes. I had only met Joey once before, but I think he might become my new best friend.
The best indication of how much planning went into the Reno wedding is that when the minister asked for the marriage license, all he got was blank stares. We had to wait 45 minutes while the betrothed motored down to city hall to take care of that detail.
Now THAT is a wedding.