Friday, February 11, 2005

Miss me?

Weddings are stupid. Especially long drawn out weddings with singers and guitarists and poetry and shit all crammed into the ceremony stretching it from 10 minutes to 45. That’s bullshit. “Do you?” “Yep. What about you?” “Sure.” Done. That’s what it ought to be. There is no rule book somewhere that says the more money you drop, the more agonizingly, mind-numbingly boring the procedure is, the more likely it will last. Putting someone, 200 someones, through that crap on Super Bowl Sunday is cruel and unusual punishment.

Due to an unforeseen illness, lucky bastard, one of the groomsmen had to cancel a few days before the wedding. To compensate for the lop-sided bridesmaids to groomsmen ratio, Jasmine agreed to step down as maid/matron of honor. She didn’t fit into her dress anymore, didn’t want to do it anyway, and third, Ivy suggested it. Blood might be thicker than water, but it’s a liquid that pours nonetheless.

When the music started up and the parade down the aisle began we all waited with bated breath, oh yes, to catch the first glimpse of the bride in her gown. Even I was eager to once again see the love dress. Once Ivy finally appeared with her father at her side, I was greatly disappointed.

“It doesn’t look the same,” I whispered.

Jasmine shushed me. Oh, I see. She can do the deed in her sister's gown, but she can't talk about the deed among 200 of her closest family and friends. Hipocrit.

Ivy came closer and I could see the dress was the same one, but obviously longed for the voluptuous curves Jasmine had lent it.

After my eyes rolled back down out of my head at the end of the excruciatingly long ceremony, we all got to watch them run out of the church together, hand in hand, like innocent babes eager to start their lives together as if they hadn’t already been shacking up like the rest of us these last few months. We made our way to the reception site where the ritual of dancing and eating took place. Bride with groom, bride with father, groom with his mom, groom with Aunt Dinky, best man with drunken bridesmaid.

Ivy came around to pay homage to her loyal followers, inquiring as to whether we were all having a good time, did we get enough to eat, were we enjoying ourselves, had we pulled the sharp pins from our eyeballs yet, the usual pleasantries. Jasmine suggested, in front of everyone I might add, that I dance with Ivy. An awkward moment passed as we each thought of the many live arachnids we would rather ingest than have to willing come in physical contact with one another.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

Jasmine likes to entertain herself with me at times. She knew damn well I had no interest in touching her little serpent sister. “He’s an excellent dancer. Go.”

The surrounding folks got involved, blissfully unaware of mine and Ivy’s hate-you/hate-you-more relationship. It was uncomfortable and tense for a few moments until I buckled and held my hand out to her. If she declines, she’ll be the ass and not me.

Little shit took my hand. Dammit.

I shot Jasmine a look I hope she took to heart because I damn well meant it, then led her snippy little sister out onto the dance floor. (For the record, that is not me in the photo with her.) Neither of us even looked at each other the first half of the song until I thought about the dress. Under no circumstances was I trying to check her out, but she happened to look up at me just as I was looking down at the dress.

“Keep your eyes to yourself.”

I was so fucking pissed. I looked back toward Jasmine and I knew she could tell something was wrong, she had that “Oh shit” look on her face as she watched us.

I swore not to make an ass of myself in front of Jasmine’s parents. “I was admiring your gown.”

“Like you would notice.”

I clenched my jaw tighter than a homophobic’s ass cheeks in the middle of San Francisco. I wanted to snap her fucking head off. “You added those straps. Jazz showed me the gown when she picked it up. It didn’t have straps.”

Ha! Fork tongued fucker! Take that shit to the bank, why don’t you. Don’t fucking tell me what I was looking at.

But instead of apologizing like she damn well should have she copped an even bigger attitude. “I had them added because I thought they looked nice. Not that you really noticed.”

I could hear the song about to end. It couldn’t have come soon enough. “Yeah. That, and you don't have any tiddies to hold it up otherwise.”

I finished her off with a whirl, bowed, and handed her off to the next poor sap in line for a turn.