Dare I say it but by the influx in running on the beach hand in hand look back at the photographer engagement posts on Instagram captioned “67 dAyS TiLl i MaRRy ThIs HuNk” I think wedding season is nearing. Brace yourselves it’s a WILD, RECKLESS, and RASHY ride.
Is it possible to plan a wedding and NOT be a self involved terrorist? People get married and think they become the epicenter of the universe. The harsh truth is, no one gives a real fuck about your impending nuptials except you and like 8 other people. So while you hold your bridal party hostage like the fucking Taliban and ask innocent bystanders whether they prefer ivory or eggshell, remember to stay self-aware, step away from pinterest and embrace these truths.
Just because you have solidified a life partner, does not mean you are the new authority on eternal happiness. Getting a Zale’s cushion cut diamond wrangled on your ego/sodium enhanced phalange doesn’t give you the right to judge your free spirited slutty friends. We get it. You have found the love of your life. Maybe your friend’s love of their life is a shower head and/or a Valtrex prescription. Let a bitch live.
Statistically speaking, almost 60% of “forever unions” end in divorce. It’s hard being such a realist… So while your ironing your fucking romper and producing your cringe sweat inducing couple montage to play during your cocktail hour… just remember the data.
Lastly, don’t do a fucking money dance unless you want people like me to talk shit about you. Don’t have a cash bar. Don’t walk down the aisle to anything by Jason Mraz or Jack Johnson. Don’t register for anything you couldn’t buy yourself. Brenda, you don’t need Hermès dishware for your studio apartment in Reseda.
Happy wedding season. Love, Jackie