The Wedding Virus
2009-05-05 10:25
David Moseley
In the last few weeks I've had to face down two terrifying pandemics. One, of course, is the latest end of mankind - the devastating pork flu.
Just last week I was driving home and spotted a lone piggy on the pavement (no jokes, there's an animal farm near my house. Less militant swine than Orwell's, though).
In an effort to save the human race, I reversed over the little porker and made delicious rashers out of him. That'll teach Piglet for sneezing in my road.
The second, infinitely more devastating pandemic however, has left me shaking at the knees. Over the last few months a number of my friends have been plagued by a seemingly zombiefying virus that has compelled them to marry at any and all cost.
I don't blame them; they all have lovely wives and did well to lock that down. But it's like they all woke up one morning and thought "must buy engagement ring", "must raise happy family", "must do all of this purely to annoy Dave".
Suffering in silence
Spare a thought for the hapless wedding guest (that's me) - five weddings in the space of eight weeks is enough to send any non-married man over the edge. There's only so many times you can force good humour when beckoned to catch the garter. And there are certainly only a limited number of times you should be forced to endure the greatest hits of the Grease soundtrack.
But here's the thing about weddings. For large portions of the proceedings, they're pretty boring. If you've heard one ceremony, you've heard them all. Even I know by now that One Corinthians is a wedding favourite.
If you've seen one father choke up at the thought that his daughter really, finally is getting nailed by some punk that he'll have to play golf with for the next 35 years, well, you know what I mean. It really is a day tailor-made for the blushing bride. The guests just suffer in silence, smiling benignly, waiting eagerly for the free beer.
So here you go, all ready for the big day. You dust off your suit and single good shirt. You set off with either another close friend of the groom (in which case you happily avoid any dancing duties at the reception), your partner (who'll be dewy-eyed before you've parked the car) or by yourself (a sure giveaway that while you may be friendly with the couple, you're not exactly on the top 10 list as a dinner party invite).
You arrive at the venue, nod at a few vaguely familiar faces, find your spot on the pew (honestly, religious people, if your benches weren't so uncomfortable you'd probably increase church attendance by 45%) and wait for the bride's always enchanting entrance. Then my favourite part - the singing of the hymns. By gosh, this should be banned from all weddings.
All weddinged out
Weddings are a joyous occasion, right? Well, in all my years I've never been to one where people sing like they mean it. Here we are, supposedly celebrating a delightful union, yet the congregation (or whatever the collective noun is for wedding spectators), without fail, mumbles despondently through a few lines like they're about to face the firing squad.
Even the classics, like All Things Bright and Beautiful, get the "I'm singing with my head in a barrel" treatment. My mate Kevin is the worst culprit here. Blessed with a beautifully resounding baritone, the man sings sullenly into his jacket pocket, depriving the wedding of a truly operatic experience.
Anyway, I'm not against marriage. I think it's great. I think I'm just all weddinged out. My family is one or two marriages short of an entry into the record books for most unholy matrimonies, so I'm well-qualified to comment disparagingly on the subject. I've stopped calling stepparents by their names and just give them numbers now. Come in number four, your time is up. Next...
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