Please stop inviting me to your wedding Part II

“If you’re a part of the wedding party, please board the bus! We are leaving for pictures!”

Like a Native American chief witnessing litter being thrown on a highway, a single tear strolls down my cheek.

I’ve been a groomsman in a handful of weddings and from start to finish, its a pain in the ass. Imagine being stuck in the elevator with 15 other people and the elevator is mobile and you can’t get out for six hours.

To make matters worse, I am handcuffed to a bridesmaid who is “like, basically a sister” to the bride. She’s as annoying as she is painfully single for yet another wedding.

“I’m just… happy for Jennifer and Sean. God…just…… happy.”

Please un-clench my arm, crazy. Your talons are tearing my sleeve.

While everyone else gets to go to the bar after the ceremony, I’m stuck eating Jimmy John’s. I’m also forced to listen to people scream “AWWWWWWW MMMMYYYY GAWWWWWD” every time a song from 2005 comes up on someone’s iPod.

By the way, yes, I did say “stuck eating Jimmy John’s” because Jimmy John’s is bad. They have 17 different sandwiches, and all of them are served cold on bland bread with lettuce, tomato, and mayo.

You know what would go great with that Italian sandwich? Some mayo caked on with a spatula!

Jimmy John’s is to sandwiches what Olive Garden is to Italian food. If you just thought ‘but I like Olive Garden’, please find the nearest oncoming bus and jump in front of it.

Then comes the process of taking the wedding photos, and (you guessed it) it’s quite unpleasant.

Drinking during this segment would be make the whole thing tolerable, but apparently its “not acceptable” to drink in a public park. This wedding is in St. Louis and their homicide rate is No.1 in the country, but if I drink (and then urinate) in the park, I’M the bad guy.

To be a wedding photographer, I imagine you must have all of the following:

  1. A pulse

I haven’t checked the latest requirement list in a while, but I think they may also require wedding photographers to have an undeserved sense of authority. Nothing makes capturing wedding memories more enjoyable than a 4'5" woman shrieking at the groomsman for breathing.

I do not respect anyone who uses a box or booster seat to get close to my eye line. Wedding photographers, Donald Trump, children; I cannot respect any of them.

After hours of fake smiles, Charlie’s Angels poses, and the longing for the sweet release of death, the wedding party boards the bus for the final stop: the wedding reception, for Part III of your wasted Saturday.


I didn’t know how to fit this topic into my work without disrupting the flow of the piece, but it’s too important a topic to leave unsaid.

Let me be clear: Wedding hashtags are, literally, the dumbest things about a wedding.

Everything I have written and will write about weddings will never overthrow wedding hashtags from the throne of stupidity.

Like any trend, no one knows how this all started. Historians believe three bridesmaids got together one day for a hangover brunch, pitched 40 pun atrocities before finally settling one, and the rest is history.

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