I feel as if my wife and I should walk around with an 80s-style, tower boombox blasting, “Somebody’s getting married!”
Makes sense since that’s pretty much been the theme of the past five years with the countless weddings we’ve attended. Many we couldn’t wait for; some we probably should’ve puff, puff, passed on; and, on a select few, obligation overruled reason. I’m almost at my Jim Carey Me Myself Irene point with obligation.
We even found the time to have our own wedding somewhere in between.
If I sound bitter, I’m not. These weddings are landmarks in our lives. Just last weekend, I had the privilege of serving as a groomsman for someone who’s a true brother. We weren’t anything more than acquaintances when we went to Fairfield together. Through a series of fateful circumstances, including our living together after we graduated and then both settling within 15 minutes of each other in Westchester Bestchester – that’s a joke – and our getting serious with our ladies around the same time, there’s plenty of funkadelic history among all of us that culminated in their nuptials. And, boy, did we dance until it fell off that night.
Coming after it are two of my best friends from home and my roommate from college – all of which are can’t miss, stone cold want to go, no complaints. I’ll again be honored with groomsman duty in two-out-of three and I couldn’t be happier for the soon-to-be newlyweds. I’m also to be adding some more members to this exclusive men of the ring club we’ve been putting together over the years – cue the Captain Planet intro.
However, as lovely as they all are and will be and blah blah blah, I just want them to stop, which is a far cry from my younger years.
Gone are the days of the two Bar and Bat Mitzvahs I was invited to. The same with Sweet 16s. I remember thinking how cool those guys were who got all the invites and danced all night and made it to second base – maybe even third on the dance floor [scandalous!!!!]. Although I never admitted it, I so desperately wanted those invites. And I never got them. Oh, you’re surprised I wasn’t at the top of everyone’s invite list?
Well, this must be the universe’s payback to me for all those lonely nights spent wondering why nobody thought enough about me to have me at their party: four weddings from September-December and, maybe, if we’re feeling up to it, the holidays with our families. I feel as if I’m in Groundhog’s Day, on an unceasing repeat of weddings and conversations about not wanting to go to any more weddings ever again.
Then, my wife and I start the discussion anew just the other day when she says that her brother actually wouldn’t mind getting an invite to a wedding I hope we do not. This makes complete sense since he’s 23 and only been to a couple weddings and the allure of unlimited food and liquor hasn’t worn off. But trust me, once you start looking and feeling like you’re in the fat suit in The Nutty Professor, it does – oh, it does indeed.
That’s really the only remaining wedding on the horizon. What’s dawning, though, are the children our friends and family are beginning to have. People ask me and my wife about children of our own too. Hold your horses, I caution. It’s not a race; we’ll get there eventually. I guess that’s next, though – babies. Clearly, I’m champing at the bit for the gender reveal parties and couples baby showers and crying and diapers and the late nights and early mornings that await.
No, in all seriousness, all that stuff is coming when the time is right for us. Progeny deserve your best and ours will certainly get it.
I’m just not ready to give it.