Wedding Tips from a Cynical Bachelor
Stick to the three-month rule for the wedding ring
Somewhere along the line, some genius (probably from the jewelry industry) decided that the price of a wedding ring should equal three months salary. And people have been swallowing up this urban myth ever since, as if it were Gospel Truth.
Of course, they didn’t specify whether this applied to someone earning $20,000 a year, or $200,000 a year. Just pay three months salary, regardless.
Theoretically, you could use that money to buy useless things. Like a down-payment on your new house together. The 2nd car. A Honeymoon in Hawaii. Or even help pay for the wedding itself.
But instead, prioritize. It’s important that you invest all your extra cash in a tiny sliver of crystalline carbon mounted in soft yellow metal.
If your future hubby truly loved you, he’d feel the same way.
Schedule your wedding during the best weekend of the summer
Never mind that you have the entire year from which to pick a wedding date. Never mind that you’re gong to spend 95% of the day indoors.
It’s important that you get married during the precious weeks of June/July/August, at precisely the moment everyone else wants to be at the cottage or the beach.
GOD FORBID, should you schedule your wedding in April or November. You could die. This is just NOT DONE.
Just remember. There’s nothing people enjoy more than spending a beautiful summer day stuck indoors, wearing uncomfortable itchy clothing and baking in 95 degree heat.
Give yourself bonus points if you schedule the wedding on a long weekend.
Triple Bonus if the reception hall isn’t air conditioned.
Make it a Catholic Wedding, if you can
Churches are rarely air conditioned. So Hooray! Now you can extend the sweltering wedding ceremony to a full hour by throwing in an entire Catholic Mass, to boot.
For the Catholic guests, this is fine. At least they’ll they know how to follow along.
But the non-Catholic guests might have problems keeping up with the priest playing Simon-Says.
Stand up. Sit down. A letter from St. Paul to the Crustaceans. Sit down. Stand up. Kneel. Stand up…etc.
But at least they get to watch everyone else eat the wafer.
Obsess. And assume everyone gives a shit
The color of the table cloths. The design of the salt and pepper shakers. The shoes the ushers are wearing. The Easter-egg pastel shade of the bridesmaids’ dresses.
There are hundreds of these details to worry about. And if you think some of these might be trivial…DON’T YOU BELIEVE IT!
My God!! Haven’t’ they told out about the Double-Secret Probation Checklist that everyone will be filling out at the reception? Don’t you know that all your friends and relatives will be monitoring and recording each and every nano-detail for the entire day?
Later, everyone will meet in an undisclosed location, and they’ll be comparing notes with each other. You’ll then be assigned a Wedding Grade that will go on your PERMANENT RECORD. It will follow you for the REST OF YOUR LIFE and will determine how your peers judge and treat you.
So you better think twice, and start choosing more carefully, when it comes to the flowers for the bouquet, or the style of the limo driver’s necktie.
Because you’ll never know…
Make it a Fruit Cake
Regarding the wedding cake, forget what everyone likes (i.e. chocolate cake or angel-food). Go with the crappy fruit cake.
There is NOTHING more appetizing than a raisin-encrusted quasi-edible brick.
Except when the same raisin-encrusted quasi-edible brick is smothered with $1200 worth of fancy white icing.
If your guests don’t like it, they can always send their portion to NASA, where it can be used as a re-entry tile for the Space Shuttle.
Assume Every Memento will end up in the Smithsonian
This is the most important day of your life. So obviously, it’s your guests’ most important day of their life, too.
So don’t skimp on ANYTHING. Everything must be as complicated and expensive as possible.
Wedding invitations, for example.
Sure, you could order the store-bought ones that just specify the time, date, and place. But that would be TOO EASY.
Instead (seeing as how you have copious amounts of free time), why not do it yourselves?
Invest in a paper-making workshop, and fabricate your own poppy-seed gilded rose petal paper at $50 a sheet. Then take a calligraphy class 6 months beforehand, so you can hand-write the invitations in Gothic manuscript that would put Gregorian Monks to shame.
Never mind that this will take you 1500 hours. It’s worth it, for the 30 seconds that it will take your guests to read the invitation to find out where the church is.
After the wedding, I’m pretty sure everyone will treasure these mementos of your Special Day, and frame them over their mantelpiece, to cherish for decades to come.
The same things applies to those 250 lovingly-wrapped doily-covered pieces of wedding cake that each guests takes home. Into the Time Capsule with those.
Make sure the DJ sticks to the tried-and-true formula
Wedding By-Law 102 (Paragraph b) dictates that the following songs MUST be played at each reception.
Lady in Red.
New York, New York.
You Make a Grown Man Cry.
Mambo Number 5.
Also, don’t forget:
Hot-hot-hot (so all the women can form a Conga Line and force their reluctant husbands and boyfriends to join in ).
Mony Mony (so that the DJ can turn off the speaker at the precise moment, allowing the younger audience to yell out about mothers’ companions having intimate relations with each other…)
The Bird Dance (make sure everyone is pleasantly sloshed before you play this).
The Macarena (It’s always a pleasure to see middle-aged overweight dance provocatively in sausage-skin tight pantsuits)
Crank the Volume after 11:00 PM to Drive the Seniors Away
Wedding receptions give families the chance to catch up with long-lost relatives and friends they haven’t seen in years (if not decades). But this can only be allowed for a couple of hours.
To prevent any further conversations or family bonding to take place, have the DJ crank up the speakers to 120 decibels and play really bad Hip-Hop music.
This will drive the older crowd in droves. The added bonus is that this allows the 20-something yuppie suburban white kids to pretend they’re part of “The Hood” as they “get down” with the music.
(Well, it was past Aunt Matilda and Grampa Yårgen‘s bedtime, anyway!)