The Word Show

This summer has been an all-out bonanza of wedding activity for yours truly. I only attended two actual weddings this season – but inasmuch as both weddings were of close friends, there was a constant chatter amongst our posse leading up to both events; e.g. talk of the planning, the anticipation, which people were left off the guest list and dragged under the friendship bus, etc. What’s more, my own sister’s wedding is coming up in a few weeks, so that will be yet another big deal.

After my sister’s marriage, the focus within my family will be on me, so the logic goes, because I am the next-oldest cousin and, logically, the next one to marry. The truth is I don’t plan to get married for a while, that is unless I hear back from South African beauty Charlize Theron about my written proposal – seriously, how long does it take to respond to a letter ( I’ve sent 15)? I don’t understand what the hold up could be. I used a classy serif-based font, and went as far as to spray each missive with a mist from the extract of a dozen Giant Proteas, South Africa’s national flower. But still no answer. Some say my persistence is creepy, but I know better. People said the same thing about a too-short young basketball player who grew up in North Carolina, and couldn’t make his high school basketball team. That young man’s name was Michael Jordan.

The last wedding I attended did not disappoint. It was a joyous occasion and, while the father of the bride was Greek, there were, sadly, no flying plates or champagne flutes – though it was pretty amusing how we, the non-Greeks, kept looking at each other for cues as to whether a particular moment was the right time to huck our empty glasses at the wall. That moment never came, but luckily the father of the bride would prove more entertaining than any airborne, high-velocity flatware: the FOB was fabulously drunk, but not the quiet drunk, slouched over in the corner. No, sir. He actually peaked early, delivering a toast to the bride and groom, where he repeated himself at least a dozen times – asked for a LOT of grandchildren (translation: I look forward to you bedding my daughter, sir) and confessed, clearly only half-jokingly, that the groom was not yet, and I quote, “100% welcomed into the family.” I say well done, honesty is important in any family relationship.

He finished strongly by groping a good half of the women at the party – his preferred move was the old “let-me-take-a-picture-with-you-lovely-ladies-so-I-can-grab-your-asses” trick. Hey, the guy paid for the wedding, so at least he got his money’s worth. I think the rule should be that if you’re paying for a wedding, then you can say – and repeat ad nauseum – whatever you want in your speech. If you’re paying for a wedding and it’s open bar, then say what you want, and then grope away.