I Hate Weddings

There, I said it.

I probably blogged about it before. I may have even used “I Hate Weddings” as the title of a previous post.

And, yes, you guessed it: I have a wedding to attend. Next Friday. A work colleague of my wife’s. I will know two people – my wife and another one of her colleagues, who I met once.

I am an introvert. I am the most extroverted of introverts (i.e., in a room full of introverts, I will be the one talking), but in a room full of extroverts I will be looking for ways and means of escape. And weddings are a splendid thing of extroversion. There ain’t nothing calm, peaceful, thoughtful, reflective about a wedding, particularly the reception but even the ceremony. A wedding is pure bacchanalia. And even when I went through my bacchanalian phase back in my twenties, I hated bacchanalia.

Before I go into specifics, though, let’s qualify that word “hate.” When I write “hate,” I mean “dislike intensely with every fiber of my being.” But it can be qualified. I’d rather have a cavity filled than go to a wedding, but not a multi-visit root canal. I’d rather have my prostate checked than go to a wedding, but not go under full anesthesia for surgery. I’d rather cut a check for a hundred bucks to the wonderful bride and groom, but not endure six hours of grueling meet-n-greet mindless chit-chat in an environment which I have to think is akin to front-row seats at an Aria Grande concert.

How often am I afflicted with a wedding? I haven’t kept track, but it’s got to average once a year. In 2014, I had the trials and tribulations of three: both my sisters-in-law, and a friend’s second go-round. Neither was what you would call a “McWedding,” but all involved my dread, my failing, the bane of my existence: meaningless cocktail party banter.

I love nothing more than a good philosophical chat. What’s your philosophy? Perhaps I can learn from it. I’m a writer, I’m a hopper, I’m naturally curious. What’s the meaning of life? What do you do that gives you meaning, that thrills you, that puts you in Csikszentmihalyian flow? All wonderful and interesting questions, to which, no doubt, you are verbalizing, “Well, Hopper, why don’t you ask the person you happen to be seated next to at a reception such ponderables?” The answer is easy, for I have. He or she will look at me as if I have two heads and three eyes, or assume I am some weird New Age guru in disguise. That is, if he or she can even hear me over the DJ.

Aside from the unwanted duty to make small talk with perfect strangers, what is it about weddings that I hate, specifically? How about an even dozen off the top of my head:

* Every reception begins with Bach’s “Air on a G String” and ultimately devolves into some unholy ménage of “Cotton-eyed Joe,” “YMCA”, and / or “Macarena.” Add to that 2019’s “Baby Shark.”

* Undying love professed and sealed with vows by two individuals who most likely haven’t cracked the doorway of a church in years.

* An endless eternity between the ceremony and reception, necessitating the need to engage with strangers, ’cuz sitting over there under a tree reading a book is considered bad form.

* Bad, bad, bad, bad Best Man speeches, ones that bust the groom’s cojones, peppered with oodles of inside jokes, wrapped up with an awkward “I Love You, Man” coda.

* Every pair of the bridal party, announced and strutting into the reception area, doing “schtick,” some goofy pantomime to the yuks of the crowd.

* All the young ladies feeling the urge to display their goods and all the young men feeling the urge to project an image of wealth and power, both of which urges magnify exponentially based on the number of alcoholic drinks consumed.

* All that cool vaping going on.

* Spotting the spat – usually, by the running mascara on the semi-drunken lady, or the group of angrily flailing boiler-room type dudes huddling out in the open.

* A DJ who also thinks he’s a comedian and that everyone’s there to hear him blather. Oh, and he also has known the bride and groom since kindergarten.

* A DJ cranking bad dance music up to 11.

* A DJ cranking bad novelty music up to 11, with the added bonus of peer pressure to get up there and dance to it.

* And the most unconscionable transgression of all, awful wedding cake.

Yes, I am married, and, yes, I had a wedding, way way back in 2001. Did I like my wedding? Honestly, yes and no. Yes, because the wife knows and understands my personality and carved out of the wedding a good percentage of what exhausts me. And, no, because, well, it was a wedding (see above). My favorite part of our reception, truth be told, occurred once the majority of the guests left. I smoked a relaxing cigarette, my first and only one that day, in glorious solitude on the deck of the inn facing the darkening woods.

If you love weddings, or if you’re newly married, or if your child is, please don’t take offense. This is just me with my preferences talking. I don’t like weddings because I’m not one who enjoys the Social Game. I’m not built that way. On my death bed I will not wring my hands that I had not enjoyed more weddings. I can’t just “be sociable” at weddings any more than I could just “be an expert fly fisher” next time I find myself on a riverbank. I don’t have the skill, and though if I wanted I could perhaps become skilled at it, every strand of DNA in every cell of my body would be scratching its metaphorical head, asking, “Why?”

I also realize these remarks put me in the minority of the population. Or do they? – just google, “I hate weddings” …