In case you missed it:
When I was single and would be making chit-chat with some nice older lady, she’d inevitably ask, “So, do you have a family?” I knew that “family” meant “husband”, so I’d always have to say no. No, I don’t have a family. I am an orphan. Little Orphan Annie is based on my life. I worked with one of these women. Libbie was 6 feet tall and woefully nerdy, like one of those boys in 5th grade who’s the tallest in his class but still manages to be terrible at basketball.
My family and I, G. Wash included
Women NEED to know the relationship status of other women. We have to know what we’re workin’ with, what to talk about, how to judge. I wonder if it’s the same in the animal kingdom. A female cheetah runs up next to another female cheetah as they’re hunting down a pack of gazelles and pants out, “Hey...so do you...have a boyfriend or…” The other cheetah is like “yeah...you?” and she’s like “same.” Sweet. They jump the gazelle and decide to just split it because they’re not super hungry. While choking back mouthfuls of hoof and horn they exchange stories, laughing, “Omg! Jason does that too!”
Before getting married, I went to get a haircut as the last one I’d gotten was on a patio with a pair of Fiskars from a man who uses soap as shampoo (see here). Hair stylists are worse than mothers when it comes to asking about your love life.
This is how the conversation went:
Her: So, do you have a boyfriend?
Me: I’m actually getting married.
Her: Oh, nice.
(Pause)
Her: So, do you have a boyfriend?
……..
This is how I wish the conversation went:
Her: So, where are you from?
Me: Chicago, you?
Her: Florida
Me: I’m sorry to hear that.
(We don’t talk the rest of the time.)
They’re always so curious. I remember getting my hair done for dances in high school and being like “No, I’m not going with a boyfriend, just a friend,” to which the stylist would reply, “Nice! Way more fun that way.” And I’d be like “Yeah, TOTALLY,” acting like I’d ever had a boyfriend in my life. She screwed 160 bobby pins into my skull as I anticipated the night ahead - photos at a doctor’s house in a cul-de-sac, throwing my back out to the Ying Yang twins in a dark gym, and trying to get my friends to piss their sleeping bags at 1 am while I ate a whole box of granola bars.
I’m a cool bride. By this I mean that I’m really chill and not controlling. Like, my bridesmaids can wear whatever they want just as long as they don’t wear any makeup and promise to look kinda bad that day. (It’s what friends do <3.) Wedding #1 was pretty low stakes in terms of My Bridal Look, as it was just family and I didn’t want to distract from my personality (our ceremony was me doing 15 minutes of standup, jk, I wish, jk.) Wedding #2 will be a bigger deal. I’m trying to lose so much weight that I legally have to sit in a car seat - wish me luck! Some brides drop so much poundage that they go way past the nice’n’fit stage and end up looking like bobbleheads. Just regular-sized heads on tiny popsicle stick bodies, boppin’ around the dance floor and cutting in line for the bathroom.
Shamefully, I am doing pilates. Whenever I exercise I feel like I’m not a feminist. “Ohhh, so THE MAN and SOCIETY want me to have a good body?!” And then I realize it’s just me telling myself that. (It’s for mental health I swear!) (It is!) (Says the woman with a six pack) (I don’t have a six pack) (Maybe one day) (No) (Help).
Our first wedding wasn’t recognized by the state because we didn’t play Uptown Funk so we’re doing it all over again with more people and more money. The term nickel-and-diming must have been invented for weddings. 1 chair equals $60 dollars and if you want people to eat you have to cash out of your 401K and convince yourself that yeah, it’s okay to wait until you have grandkids to buy your first home. We had to start a GoFundMe for cloth napkins. Champagne will be pamplemousse La Croix. The photographer will be my aunt with her iPad. So why have a big wedding at all? Well, I love a party.
I have found ways to save. I bought a wedding dress online just as I’ve bought anything else in life - sort by price: low to high. (I don’t own a measuring tape as I’m not one of the birds from Cinderella, so figuring out my sizing was kind of tricky. Turns out an iPhone charger has more than one use when paired with a ruler.) Forgoing late night food is another cost saver even though it’s usually the best part of any wedding (“Food?! Again?!”). We’ll also be sending out paper invitations instead of the pricier, professional option - each guest gets a gold box with two aggressively mating doves inside. And instead of selling plasma to pay for an open bar, we’re just going to fill the sprinkler systems with vodka and let it rip.
The worst part of every wedding is the panicky sliver of time between when you’ve decided you’re ready to start dancing and the dancing itself. The distance between your chair at the table and the designated wooden rectangle is an emotional minefield riddled with the questions - Am I really ready? Do I have what it takes? And the biggest question of all: How will I start? Writing this now I have no idea how to start dancing. I’ve obviously done it but I must black it out every time. It’s strange - it’s the most self aware I ever am but I have no recollection of ever having done it. One second I’m eating short ribs and the next I’m full on doing the running man. I am an Olympian.
Whenever the bride comes out to the dance floor everyone’s always like “OoOoh!! Bride’s gettin’ down!” Bride has a Miller Lite, out of nowhere. She drops it low, her gown billowing out in a perfect circle while her updo keeps her afloat, mimicking the cake dome I bought off her registry. The photographer runs around in his cigarette pants, his shots freezing us in time, in sweat, in the song Africa where we all sing Africa. High on life and on love, and we only had to spend $100 grand to get here.