TheBanyanTree: WedI sdings, Act III

[Monique Colver]

We went to the third of this season's weddings yesterday. This season
offered the trifecta, with weddings in April, May, and June. There's one in
July also, which is more of a reenactment than a wedding, but all the same,
my husband will be putting on a tux and standing in the vicinity of the
groom, so I suppose that it all comes down to the same thing. I won't be
there, so he shall have to endure this ordeal alone.
	Not that it's an ordeal, mind you. Except the shoes are always
torturous, and the standing seems to go on forever, and yesterday, for
example, it was hot in the church. The April wedding we were not involved
with, so we were ostensibly just guests, which is a position I've always
aspired to, but being a guest, in this case, meant arriving early in the
morning to participate in the Vietnamese ceremony, being my father's
chauffeur, arriving hours early to wander around while trying to keep my
father out of trouble, and then, afterwards, once all the real guests had
left, loading up our car with gifts and food and then delivering it to my
brother's house, where we then had to unload the loot and pile it into his
living room, then deliver my father back to his home. My brothers and
sisters all behaved as proper guests, coming and going when they wished,
unburdened by responsibilities or the desire to be helpful. (Many years ago
when my mother remarried for the fourth time I was the one who helped
decorate, who picked up flowers and helped organize, who spent the wedding
putting people where they belonged, who got substitutes to escort the
groom's mother and family down the aisle when HIS family wouldn't help, who
led the cameraman around all day (which is why there are no pictures of my
family - I had no time), and who helped clean up - while my brother and
sister and HIS children all behaved as proper guests. For some reason I have
a sign on my forehead that says, "SLAVE LABOR.")
	Yesterday, while the reception was winding down, I watched guests
say their goodbyes and wander away, free to go on their way whenever they
wished, and envied them their freedom. Sort of.
	But that's neither here nor there. 
	I found yesterday's ceremony oddly depressing. The minister, helpful
as he was, offered up something like the following during the service (I
have paraphrased, as I wasn't taking notes at the time): "Today is a
celebration, and while a lot of work has gone into preparing for this day,
you better enjoy it now, because when you wake up tomorrow, everything will
have changed, and that is when the real work begins. Marriage is work, every
day, constantly, unceasingly, and there will be many challenges every day
along the way, as you serve God with your commitment, as you serve as an
example to others of how to live your lives, so have fun today, because
after today, it's all work." Or something like that. He probably said it
nicer, but that's doubtful, because it was probably the most onerous wedding
ceremony I've ever heard. My mind was translating his words into something
like this: "You are now entering the gates of hell. Your lives, as you know
them, are over. Go forth, procreate, and expect nothing but work to keep
yourselves together. You did promise God, and all, so you better just do
whatever it takes to serve Him and prove to us that you're worthy. No more
fun for you, ever!" 
	I was starting to wonder if I was doing the whole marriage thing
wrong because I had no idea it was supposed to be such an ordeal. When I
mentioned it to Andrew later he had no recollection of the ceremony itself,
because he was thinking about how hot it was in the church, and how his feet
hurt in those special shoes, and wondering if there was something he was
supposed to be paying attention to. Ah yes, the groomsmen's own special
hell. 
	After the ceremony we all filed out, the most somber and depressed
looking group I've seen in longer than I can remember, and stood in the
entrance of the church, and tried to make small talk while we waited for the
reception to begin, which would be in the reception room right next to us.
The best man's girlfriend sidled up to me and we arranged to sit together,
since our significant others wouldn't be allowed to sit with us until
halfway through the reception, once the toasts were done. She's Jewish, and
we talked about how intimidating the gigantic cross in the church was.	
	I have my own theories about weddings. They're very important for
several reasons. 1) If you can survive planning a wedding with your
betrothed, you can survive what comes next. If you can't survive planning a
wedding, that's a bad sign. 2) It gauges the level of commitment. If you
aren't committed enough to this thing we call a marriage by dressing up
extravagantly and throwing a party that is unnecessary, frivolous, and
entertaining, are you committed enough to weather the First Big Disaster
that strikes? (There's always a First Big Disaster, quickly followed by a
Second, a Third, a Fourth . . . ) (This is assuming, of course, that the
wedding itself isn't a disaster.) 3) It gives the participants a chance to
find out if their families and friends like each other or not. This will be
helpful when scheduling holidays. 4) Throwing a wedding tests your
organizational skills, and we can certainly all stand to have those tested,
can't we? 5) I forget. I'm certain there are more, but I'm still developing
these theories. (See the upcoming book: "Why Have A Wedding? (Why the Hell
Not?))
	Anyway, eventually they let us sit down in the reception room at big
round tables. We were able to pick where we wanted to sit, and with whom, as
long as those of us who were with members of the wedding party didn't want
to sit with those we them. The best man's girlfriend and I took a break,
before heading to the buffet, to head out to her car for a few swigs of
Maker's Mark, a rather fine whiskey. She'd come prepared, since the
reception itself was dry. 
	A couple swigs of Maker's Mark did the trick, and I was able to
mostly forget the doom and gloom pronouncements of the minister, who does
not appear to be a very happy man. He didn't stay for the reception, so I
didn't have an opportunity to analyze him further.
	We ate, the ceremonial dances were held (restrained and calm dancing
- we were, after all, in a church), more pictures, toasts, all the
traditional wedding things. When the bouquet was thrown the best man's
girlfriend went as summoned, though she wasn't interested. Two young girls
who didn't look old enough to be dating, much less married, were with her,
and when the bouquet was thrown the best man's girlfriend stepped back about
five feet to get out of the way, and when the emcee asked who wanted the
bouquet, because it had landed in a heap on the floor, she pointed to the
two adolescents and said, "They do." I like her. 
	We decorated the groom's car. They took more pictures. I wanted to
go home. But I couldn't. When the reception wound down I jumped into the
fray and started making little piles on the tablecloths, separating the
numerous seashells from the marbles and blue and green glass that had been
used for centerpieces around the big bowls of sand that had more seashells
and marbles. It was all very pretty, but someone, or several someones, then
had to disassemble all of this and put the seashells, which someone had
toted from the Midwest, back into plastic bags so they could return home. So
I made little piles and helped distribute them into the proper plastic bags,
and then, once the centerpieces were disassembled, I started grabbing
tablecloths and folding them. I took down the skirts on the tables.
Meanwhile, Andrew was loading glasses and linens into the car so he could
return them to the rental place on Monday. 
	Eventually we were set free, yet another wedding successfully dealt
with. It wasn't, we have to admit, nearly as fun as ours, nor as
entertaining. I noticed that the bride didn't have any friends. Her
bridesmaids were 1) her brother's wife, 2) her new sister-in-law, and 3) a
friend who is married to one of her husband's friends. She had family. She
had relatives. She had friends by association. She had none of her own
friends. This is where she lives. This is where her family lives. This is
where she grew up. And she has none of her own friends. Wow. I'm still
trying to fit that fact into my tiny little brain. Maybe some people just
don't have a use for friends. Wow.