| 29 August 2011
It's wedding season, and you know what that means: Time to shell out a crap ton of money in exchange for night of free food, free drinks and the perception that you will get to go home with one of the hot, single bridesmaids.
Normally I would say that's not too bad of a deal (usually I am drunk when I say this), but then you get that “Save the Date” card in the mail. You are informed that Friend A is marrying Friend B in the lovely month of September, October, or November.
W.T.Fuck.
99% of all weddings are on a Saturday, and as any good person knows Saturdays in the above mentioned months are reserved solely for greatness, yes that's right, college football.
So now we are stuck at a ceremony that is going to take much longer than it needs to because the minister / pastor / priest /officiate or whoever it is you have paid to pronounce you man and wife is up there telling stories that they think are cute or funny but clearly aren't and definitely were not on the script at the rehearsal the day before but it is too late now they have a captive audience and not even the bride or groom dare ask him to pick up the pace even though the majority are thinking just that.
Those members of the captive audience are now looking around at each other wondering if it's ok to remove their cell phones from their pocket and check scores but they don't risk it because they know that one of the nosey Aunts will see and try and make a scene about it later at the reception but then that long winded minister says "let us bow our heads and pray" opening the window of opportunity.
When the ceremony finally wraps up, you scamper to the car and flip on the radio. Generally, you’ve just missed an amazing ending to a game, and you’re now cursing the newlyweds.
But you have hope. “Maybe there’s a tv somewhere in the reception hall,” you think to yourself. This, of course, is a retarded thought. No bride would EVER allow this, let alone the one you don’t even know who’s marrying your buddy.
So there you are. The sad man in the corner checking scores on his phone. At least you can drown your sorrows with some sweet, sweet alcoh…. DRY WEDDING?!?!?!
You’re dead to me, groom.
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