by Jeannie Greeley
| November 28, 2011
While most of us have just recovered from
the mental and financial hangovers of last season's weddings, many couples are
already hard at work planning next year's nuptials. Yes, you batty brides- and
bridegrooms-to-be, we know the whole shindig is all about you. But in the
unlikely event that you actually care to consider your guests' feelings, I
thought I'd offer a few suggestions from the perspective of the people helping
you pay for that honeymoon in Kuala
Lumpur. (For the record, Kim Kardashian could not be
reached for her expert commentary.)
Allow invitees a plus-one, regardless of
their relationship status. I once
received an invitation addressed to "Mr. Richard Greeley and Jeannie." Yeah. My
dad (who didn't even know you were engaged) and I would love to
attend your wedding together. I am here to support your foray into the archaic
institution of marriage. You could at least throw a bone to your hedonistic,
commitment-phobic friend and the hot gay date I will molest in front of your
Don't scatter your closest friends at different tables.
This is not a job fair or a speed-dating event. If I wanted to meet your
cousins once removed, I'm perfectly capable of mingling. Just let me eat my
family-style turkey dinner without having to serve as entertainment for these
Don't foist too many decision-making duties on your
bridesmaids. Between the shower, the bachelorette party, the dress,
and various other obligations, I'd personally prefer you just ask me for $1,000
and tell me what to do and where to be. That way I won't be subjected to those
incessant email chains of indecision. I would rather simply write a check than
play psychological gymnastics with a group of passive-aggressive women who will
all look worse in that hideous dress than I do.
Spare me the religion. After a night of binge drinking at your rehearsal
dinner, the last thing I need is to awaken to Father Reilly selling me on
traditional values for a full two hours. (And that Eucharist is not helping
anyone's cottonmouth.) Besides, nothing outs your friends as the heathens they
are like that awkward game of pew pantomime that ensues as they try to figure
out what the hell is going on.
Open the damn bar for a bit. I am here to mourn the
soon-to-be-compromised social life of my formerly single friend and await the
impending announcement of conception. A girl needs a drink for this shit. Give
me at least one hour of belligerent booze binging before I have to do the YMCA.
Return my gift. If, perchance, your big day turns
into a big flop (like all your catty friends predicted as you were rushing to
the altar with that floozy), I expect you to return my gift from the shower,
engagement party, or other pre-wedding bilking event. Then I'll actually have
one set of matching stemware to rival the dusty collections that my married
counterparts amassed from their bloated bridal registries.
Send a thank-you note. No, an email doesn't count. And
a Facebook message is like a digital bitch slap. I want a handwritten,
USPS-sanctioned, saliva-laden, stamped envelope with a heartfelt sentiment that
makes me feel like you remember I was there. In fact, if I was in your wedding
party or helped plan your bachelorette bash, I want it delivered via a carrier
pigeon . . . carrying a martini . . . with a nugget of weed hidden in its
talons. Yes, your hands will cramp as you engage in the antiquated practice of
penmanship - kind of like ours did as we were writing all those checks.
Consider it payback.
Jeannie Greeley is a freelance writer and
a happily unhitched bitch. She can be reached at email@example.com.