The whole point of not being single, as far as I can tell from television, OK! Magazine and the facebook albums of people I went to school with, is to eventually have a wedding and be a married person. Apart from the fact that being a married person is a potentially overrated life choice (more of which later), weddings are, routinely, traumatic experiences for everyone involved. Including the bride and groom, who will, at some point, become aware that they’ve spunked enough money for six months in the Maldives on five hundred yards of bleached satin, a silver service carvery and an evening in a tarted-up conference room at the Holiday Inn on the A2.
There are only three moments when it’s acceptable to get excited about the concept of a wedding. The first, obviously, is when a new episode of Don’t Tell the Bride airs on BBC 3. The second is when you look at Vera Wang’s Spring 2013 bridal wear collection and do a daydream about getting married in Woolwich Town Hall and being able to wear this. The third is when you receive an invitation to somebody else’s and your brain goes: ‘ooh, look! A pending social occasion where you might meet someone to procreate with!’
Of course, if you examine point three you will very quickly realise that your brain is mistaken. You will not meet someone with whom to have sex/make likkle bubbas with squidgy fat hors d’oeuvre hands at a wedding. I’m sorry, babe. It is just not going to happen. For a start, if you’re invited to the wedding, chances are you’ll know the bride and groom and will have spent time with them before. You will already have stalked their facebook friends lists for prospective hot lovers and they won’t have had any. Or they will, but you’ll already have slept with them. And then they’ll turn up at the wedding with their girlfriend (awkward). Also, you’ll be so busy getting wasted on the table wine and trying not to fall over on the groom’s Nan that no one will want to make fat little babies with you anyway. Essentially, you’ll be stuck in an large, overly air conditioned room, eating lukewarm beef with other people’s friends and family and trying not to burst into tears at the dawning realisation that you’re ALL ALONE and will be so old by the time you do eventually meet someone that you’ll look like a garish Barbara Cartland in your own wedding photos. I don’t understand why anyone would do this to their friends.
So, I’m going to decide that weddings should be banned until the only people who would be capable of doing them well (the gays) are allowed to have proper ones.
I can hear some of you going: ‘You can’t do that. It’s not about the party. It’s about the special life you’ll build together afterwards. Just imagine: you can have those fat bubbas and he might even let you get a puppy.’ To which I reply: ‘No, love. It is not going to be like that.’ I know, via my acute observational skills, that never having to be married person is up there at number 8 in the top ten all-time list of reasons to be single.
If you get married there’s a necessary but unfortunate status change from ‘two people’ to ‘married couple’. You are no longer just you, strutting confidently through life, drinking too much gin, buying lipstick and running late for work – you’re a ‘wife’ or a ‘husband’. You are willingly making bonds of family with someone else. Someone you are going to have to sleep with. OMG! You will be related, by marriage, to your sexual partner – just as you’re related, by marriage, to your uncle Geoff. I KNOW! Who comes up with this shit?
If you’re about to be a woman married person, it’s even worse: the bond of marriage is a traditional rite in which the lady’s family bequeath her to the man, like a dusty old painting from the back of the loft. Sometimes they stage a ritual where this is symbolised by the lady’s dad actually, physically, walking with her down the aisle, and handing her over to the husband. No, really. It’s true: I’ve seen it happen with my own blue eye balls. I’m pretty sure it can’t be the opening ceremony to a fulfilling life.
The other thing is – once you’re married, the whole point is that you then have to spend the rest of your life with this one other person. What if you wake up one day and just don’t really like them anymore? I mean, I regularly meet up with people I’ve known for years and find that suddenly, their snorting laugh, or the faded denim jacket they’ve been wearing since 2001, makes me want to punch them in the face. And not just when I’m on my period. Yes, I suppose you could get a divorce, which might be fun because then you can be Dolly Parton singing D.I.V.O.R.C.E to your reflection in the living room window. But divorces are probably a lot distressing and definitely involve attending to tedious things like dealing with lawyers, and drawing up custody rotas. You might as well not have bothered and spent the money on that trip to the Maldives. Apparently they have turtles, and imported tequila.