Friday, July 28, 2006
The Wedding
Generally speaking, there are two sorts of wedding you get invited to. Ones you want to go to and ones you don’t. Ok, I have probably stated the obvious there, but bear with me. Whilst these two have an overlap, which I will get to shortly, they can basically be summarised further as “Friends Weddings” (bonus points if it’s two friends marrying each other) and “non-friends Weddings”. The overlap is of course, family weddings but for the purpose of this discussion we’ll leave them out as all the spite, backbiting, and often fist fights associated with these is not what we’re on about.
So friends weddings are great, especially if you go all day, have a right good piss ‘n’ knees up, and probably reckon you’ve pulled at least once, always good for the old ego. Even an evening only invite means at least you have a night out with your mates that isn’t centred around the pub and curry house.
The other sort are the ones we all secretly dread – the ones that set a chill of fear running down your back when you see the envelope plop on to your hallway carpet. The ones you’d rather gnaw you own leg off than actually have to attend, the ones where faking a fit or deliberately putting yourself in hospital are both preferential options to having to attend. Ignoring again the family element (still a WHOLE other ballgame…) these fall into one group which we all know and hate – they’re all weddings of our other half’s work colleagues.
Honestly, is there any worse form of torture than this? I swear when I die and go to hell I’ll be asked to dress up like a penguin and be led into a big hall to attend the wedding receptions of people my wife used to work with ad infinitum. People I’ve briefly met in a noisy pub during some other persons leaving drink; people I’ve met across a table during that other worse-than-thumb-screws torture of the office party; people you only know through conversations over your evening meal when you’ve run out of proper conversations to have. Part two to follow.....
So friends weddings are great, especially if you go all day, have a right good piss ‘n’ knees up, and probably reckon you’ve pulled at least once, always good for the old ego. Even an evening only invite means at least you have a night out with your mates that isn’t centred around the pub and curry house.
The other sort are the ones we all secretly dread – the ones that set a chill of fear running down your back when you see the envelope plop on to your hallway carpet. The ones you’d rather gnaw you own leg off than actually have to attend, the ones where faking a fit or deliberately putting yourself in hospital are both preferential options to having to attend. Ignoring again the family element (still a WHOLE other ballgame…) these fall into one group which we all know and hate – they’re all weddings of our other half’s work colleagues.
Honestly, is there any worse form of torture than this? I swear when I die and go to hell I’ll be asked to dress up like a penguin and be led into a big hall to attend the wedding receptions of people my wife used to work with ad infinitum. People I’ve briefly met in a noisy pub during some other persons leaving drink; people I’ve met across a table during that other worse-than-thumb-screws torture of the office party; people you only know through conversations over your evening meal when you’ve run out of proper conversations to have. Part two to follow.....
# posted by Bucko! @ 7:52 AM 
