Let’s face it. Some weddings are a bore.
It’s a long day.
Ceremony. Photos with every possible combination of family members. So many, that the Mother-of-the-Bride suddenly develops the logic of a mathematician. Pre-wedding breakfast drinks. Wedding breakfast. Hopefully the bridal party have placed you next to someone vaguely interesting. More photos. That god-forsaken Purgatory in between wedding breakfast and the evening reception where nothing really happens, you’re getting the munchies and your feet are beginning to hurt.
It’s also an expensive day. Travel costs. Accommodation. Gifts. New outfits. Hair dressing appointments. It can all come to a good three-hundred pounds if you’re not vigilant in the sales, as my friend Gay Dave has taught me to be.
(Dave: “You shouldn’t buy those make up remover wipes. There’s no difference between those and baby wipes. And they’re half the price.”
Me: “But these smell like cucumber. And they’ve got dual purpose cleanser and toner.”
Dave: “Miss Gemma? Who’s pound is stronger?”
Me: *sigh* “Yours.”
Dave: “Exactly. Get the baby wipes. Now. Where’s the lube? Hmmmmm ……LUBE.”)
You’re close friends and family will be more than happy to go through the above process and all it’s tribulations for you. They’ll put the money aside months in advance and count the days until the big event. You’ve invited your parents, brothers and sisters, and their respective partners. Your core friendship group are a given. (I’m not talking about the drinking buddies. I mean the ones who’ll help you get rid of the body. The one’s who’ll see you through to the blood-spattered end.) Maybe you’ll put a few people down from the office and perhaps a couple of buddies from your tennis team.
How many more people could you possibly need????? (Personally I’m at a loss as to how most weddings hold an average of a hundred and twenty guests. As a bride-to-be, I can’t imagine the hell-on-earth involved in making shallow small talk with the fifty or so people who haven’t bothered to see you since Christmas 1997, when you’re supposed to be drunk and DANCING TO LA BAMBA ).
So when a bride’s family puts pressure on them to invite not only second cousin Jackie, but second cousin Jackie’s new boyfriend that she met down the pub last month, not only is it necessary to reconsider this from a financial view point, but it is wise to think twice on a purely humanistic perspective.
Firstly, when did you last see second cousin Jackie? Are you close? I mean, “hiding-the-body” close? Have you met her new fling? Do you want to be able to say in years to come that you met her fling at your wedding? That you had to pay fifty-eight pounds per head for the privilege? That, years down the line, he’s long gone from second cousin Jackie’s life. And according to what you’ve heard, possibly in prison?
Secondly, can second cousin Jackie and her convict boyfriend afford to come to your wedding, both financially and spiritually? Do they want to spend that precious weekend travelling all the way down to whichever medieval castle, arguing over who should be Des? Is it a drag for them to have to buy you a gift?
Second cousin Jackie and all others characterised by their questionable connections with your existence, (despite their unfortunate yet unquestionable connection through plasma), may become known to your and your other half, as The Shit List.
You know they’re going to throw a fit when they’ve heard on the grapevine you haven’t invited them. And yet, you can’t remember the last time they came to your house. Have they EVER been to your house?
Would it be easier for all parties if you just didn’t invite The Shit List and let them bitch about it for a few years instead? They’ll get tired and bored eventually.
Essentially, it’s a lose/lose situation.
But let’s face it, you’re doing second cousin Jackie a favour by not inviting her.
EVERYONE HATES WEDDINGS.
It’s true. Unless the couple in question are the closest of your close friends, the only redeeming feature of any given wedding in invitation is the free booze. And, given what it cost to get there, what it’ll cost to get home and the asking price of your dress (Gay Dave wouldn’t have you paying full price), that glass of Prosecco isn’t free at all! It is, in fact, a trifling concession! An insult to your efforts, your sacrifice, even your family’s name.
As second cousin Jackie storms out of the castle’s tourist toilet block where she’s been arguing with the convict, she curses you and all you stand for.
“They’ll be divorced in six months!” She screams as she stumbles, barefoot across the moors and into the mists, cutting her foot on a pebble and sliding down a grassy knoll on a cow pat.
Tell me about your Shit List.
PS You’re Des.