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Don't get me wrong, I love a party as much as anyone. I also happen to believe in love. I really do. I'm not jaded. I'm not cynical. You would think a party where two people proclaim their love for one another over an open bar and cake would be my favorite thing in the world, and you would be right. But that's not what this is. No, no, no, no. This is the sixth time this year. Someone I have previously seen in locker room attire has asked me to put on my nicest clothes. Asked me to arrive at an exact time, not around, not whenever, but in an exact sacred, non-negotiable time. Asked me to sit there hungry, overdressed, itchy, and emotionally neutral for hours while they make their little entrance. They asked me to bring a gift, a thoughtful one, something symbolic, something from a registry that somehow costs more than my monthly utilities. Also, I can celebrate them publicly. Enthusiastically and honestly preferably on camera. Listen, weddings are great, truly. I mean that I cry, sometimes I clap. I participate. I'll even get on that dance floor if the party needs a little razzle dazzle. I'm tired. I'm tired of the pageantry, tired of the reverence, i'm tired of pretending this isn't the same guy who have had to pick up drunk from some random person's house multiple times. I'm tired of the expectation that this is the most important day of my life too. I love you. I support you. I really do wish you joy and a long and longevity and a healthy respect for very separate and very different hobbies. This is just all a lot at once. It starts with the pre invitation, you know, since so far in advance, it's not really an invitation, it's a declaration, a warning shot. A flare until the night. A little card that says there's absolutely no way you already have something on your calendar. It's a super thick paper. You're kind of excited when you get it. You're like, what is this? A source? It's like a source from a tree that saw the first Chinese dynasty. It looks and feels like the cost of printing. Could have probably bought one of those items off the registry itself. The pictures are cute. They're romantic. I love them. Everyone's laughing in a field somewhere, and I'm honestly thrilled to be invited to my third cousin once removed the wedding. Truly, I really am. Let's put this on the fridge so I can lowkey. Forget about it for the next few months, and then it's a few months later and it happens. A horse drawn carriage rolls up to my house and a box is handed to me, not an envelope, A box heavy. Something serious. It needs two hands and a knife to even try to pry it Open inside is the real invitation, and now the demands begin. Here's the date, here's the time. Here's the venue, which is somehow both remote and prestigious. Here are the colors you should not wear. Here's the website you must visit to tell us that you will in fact be here because you saved the date when you were supposed to three months ago. Here's the hotel block that you must pretend is a deal because I actually got a deal on it. Black tie, great. The wedding party will rent tuxes. The men over 65 will dust off their old military uniforms, and the rest of us will do what we can do. But me, I actually bought a tuxedo nearly a thousand dollars outta my pocket. Why did I buy it?'cause if I rented one at$200 every time, I would've spent$1,200 this year alone. This isn't vanity. This is a fiscal decision, a spreadsheet revolution. So when I see black tie, now I don't blink. Will I be the only person in a true tux outside of the wedding party in men over 65? Most definitely. But I know for a fact I'll be looking good and I'll save money while doing it. The venues, I will say, are always incredible, stunning, historic, always a place that used to be something important. A vineyard, a former monastery that does weddings on the weekends, and is a distillery during the week. There's rolling hills, there are string lights, there's flowers everywhere, so many flowers. It feels like the forest has a slight exception with a bee named Berry Bee Benson. It's beautiful. It really is. Then I step onto the property. That's so beautiful and more demands are made. First sign this book, not just your name, something memorable, something heartfelt, something that proves you are present, not just physically, but emotionally. The photos will not be near enough now. Okay, good. Your entry has been recorded. A very serious person is gonna ask, who are you here for? This is I am later informed, the wedding coordinator. She goes by bitch of the hour for short. The question is trickier than she ever considered. Well, I knew the bride first, but I am definitely closer with the groom. I like him a lot better, but I don't wanna portray anyone, and I feel like the wife would be more appreciative of me being on her side. I don't know, just who has more guests here already, who has the most space on their side? I don't know the politics of it. I don't care. She asked me if I have my invitation. Of course, I don't. You think I could bring that 60 pound brick with me to this fricking wedding? No, that's fine. You're on this side. He'll show you where to sit. I sit down, then I'm told now stand everyone stand. We don't know why we stand because standing is happening. We turn, we smile. We acknowledge our dear friend walking down the aisle, and we ignore the virtue signaling of her father not being the one beside her. The ceremony truly it's lovely. It always is. Words like show, words like journey, intentional, they're used. The officiant is a new preacher in town always has something to prove. This is the biggest audience he's preached to in weeks and this is his and this is now his flock. If he does good enough, we may make the four hour drive back next week just to see him. We are all counting the seconds till the happy hour we clap. Women cry. We excel and then we finally move to the reception with an air of excitement. And then time itself folds, you start running into people from a past version of your life. College friends, old roommates, someone you once shared a bathroom with. You have nothing in common with them anymore, except the fact that you both know this couple. You do the dance, the update dance. Where do you do now? Where do you live? Wow. That's crazy. We should catch up. We won't. I'm gonna grab a drink and come back. Please don't we wait together like peasants, while the close family disappears to take photos. Golden hour photos. Serious photos. Photos that will later convince you. This was the most magical day anyone has ever lived. We hover near high top tables. We nurse drinks. We pretend not to notice how hungry you are. We muffle the groans of nearby stomachs, but then. Out of the corner of our eyes, we see the party coming, the music shifts, and suddenly we all care deeply about the choreography of people who really should not be dancing right now. They're earnest boy, are they aggressive? They're wildly over rehearsed, yet painfully under-discussed. The mama's boy dancing with his mom to a little romantic love song. It's a little awkward. The daddy issues daughter checking this last item off the list. There's always one groomsman who treats like his big break, full commitment, eye contact. He's dancing at the crowd, not for the couple. Somewhere someone is clapping on the wrong beat, just trying to survive until it's over. The bride, she's glowing. It makes it all worth it. The groom is sweating like crazy. Half the wedding party is counting steps and the rest of us are kind of trapped. Can't look away. Although we probably should. We're still hungry. We can't eat. We're smiling in a specific way that says, I support you, but I'm ready for this to be over. It's not about fun. It's not about joy. It's, it's just about loyalty. At this point, I. Then the speech is okay, I God, I get excited about the speeches. Some are beautiful and they're so beautiful that it makes the risk of the dangerous ones worth it. Someone is going to go rogue, someone's drunk, and they're going to say something that makes everyone else in the audience gasp, and that will be what we talk about for the rest of the night. Finally we get dinner, we eat cake. We're fat. Happy Mary. Oh, honestly, we're having a great time. And then finally the sendoff. This should be simple. It's not. We do it once. Uh, rewind it then again. Then one more time, because the sparkles weren't really lit correctly that second time. Okay. Wait. Whoa. Slow it down. Slow it down. If the right side could react a little better, this would go a lot faster. Okay, one more kiss. Hold. Hold it. Perfect. We got it. We got it for the camera. You are gonna love this on Facebook later. Here's the thing. I complain about every part of this sigh. I'm gonna look at my watch a lot, and I'm gonna quietly judge the font choices of your invitations. But I'm also gonna go to my tailor and make sure my tux looks fantastic. I'm going to arrive on time. I'm have a fat smile on my face, and I'm gonna cheer you on. I'm gonna go to this wedding because this is how we mark time. This is how we show up for each other. This is how we say, I was there when it started and one day when it's my turn, I'll absolutely be inviting you to my wedding and you're gonna show up too. And you're gonna be tired too. And I'll be in the text, not the groom, just emotionally invested. Wait. And one day when it's my turn, I'll ask. I'm absolutely inviting all them to my wedding, and they're gonna be tired too. They may even have kids at that point, but they'll come. I'll be in the tux, not the groom. Just emotionally invested. Honestly. Who am I to say no to a party?