Wedded Bliss Part I: I Wanna Get Married

I don’t really want to get married. I just want to have a wedding. Marriages are about taxes and compromise, a sleepy march towards death or divorce.

Weddings, on the other hand, are parties so huge that other, smaller, parties orbit them.  Think about it; Theengagement party, bridal shower, bachelor party, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner.  Around the wedding sun there are five party planets, each of them centered on sex, and smaller event moons; dress fittings, cake tasting,  flower choosing, present buying, present opening, getting dressed for the wedding, getting undressed after the wedding, making toasts, hooking up.  Every moment a small celebration of love and life, friendship and family, beauty of all kinds, rejoicing in the senses.  The look and feel of the dress, the scent and color of the flowers, the lush taste of food and drinks, a reason to see friends and family you haven’t seen for ages.  Why should this amount of joy and sensual delight be tied to such an outdated bummer of a concept  like marriage?  How can one think of knitting their life to just one person while experiencing this much of life?  Shouldn’t everyone be able to have a party this massive?  Even people who don’t want to get married?

I understand, in a way, how and why weddings have been linked with marriages historically.  But in a world where marriage is, at best, a fifty fifty shot at lifelong companionship and tax breaks why would that be linked with a once in a lifetime party of epic proportions?
Marriages are about compromise weddings are about perfection. The perfect spouse, the perfect day, the perfect dress.  Marriages are about the dead end of your sex life.  Weddings are nothing but sex and burgeoning potential.  It’s normally considered uncouth to reach up your girlfriend’s dress, remove her undergarment and throw it into a crowd, but at a wedding it’s required!  And throwing it makes some kind of prediction about who else is going to get laid that night.
We should all be able to run through a corridor of our friends holding sparklers on our way to go have sex. There is never another time in your life when people will be that celebratory about the fact that someone else is having sex.
And Formal wear! There are men in formal wear! There’s a reason men’s formal wear hasn’t changed for the past hundred years and that’s because they’ve simply got it right.  The tux squares out the shoulders and brings the torso into a V.  It’s black and white, which looks good on everyone and it forces men to wear pants that actually fit.

I’m convinced that women pre-plan their weddings because they feel it’s rude to discuss their sexual fantasies in public.

My wedding would begin with the Chris Cornell cover of Ave Maria; a religious song I find intensely sexy.
I would walk down the aisle in a white silk corset with crystal and pearl beading, yards of tulle trailing behind me, glistening like the morning dew. And all over my dress, a spray across my skirt and clinging here and there to my bodice, would be blood red silk rose petals. As I walked down the aisle women would gasp and men would be speechless. My bridesmaids would follow behind me like minions of sex. Bright red satin, sweetheart necklines, short skirts and maybe a little 50’s hat with a veil. The obligatory bridesmaid ass bow would look inviting and succulent, like a present just daring you to unwrap it.
My husband, whoever the fuck he is, the instantly erect man to whom I am affianced would stand tall and proud, a slight sheen on his black tuxedo.  The red rose on his lapel would match the red on my dress.  His eyes would shine and his lips would be slightly parted in wonder.  His eyes would be beautiful, that’s all I know about him.  And odds are good he’d be a brunette.
He would take my hand and we would vow our love. And I would honestly believe that our love would last forever.
The ceremony would end and I would be kissed (with just enough passion to not make my family uncomfortable) and we would run through a corridor of our smiling, rice throwing, bubble blowing loved ones.
Then we’d double back to the now empty church.

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