I won’t get fooled again

I’ve been holding on to a wedding invitation from a family member for the past few weeks. It’s her second go round at the very tender age of twenty middle something or other. In other words- too young for a rematch, but that’s just my way of thinking. I’m not prudish by any stretch of the imagination, just prudent.

This beautiful creature of a cousin is not scaring Liz Taylor just yet but let’s just say it wouldn’t be a surprise if her father ends up plastered to the side of a milk carton any day now. Two wedding reception tabs inside of four years will do that to a guy.

It’s why I’m okay with my kids being gay . . so long as they don’t move to a state that allows for gay marriage, that is. I’m not against gay marriage, not at all. Gay people have every right to be as miserable as heterosexuals. Nah, I’m just not looking forward to paying up for my kids’ wedding bill since doing such a thing is a fifty fifty proposition at best according to the latest divorce numbers. Hell, the banks are more dependable than that.

Taking a page from my parents- and ripping it to shreds- I would be just fine with my kids being gay or living in sin, or both. Because I have to believe it’s going to be a hell of a lot easier on my wallet than hearing “Dad, I’m getting married”.

Hopefully my son will hold off on marriage until after he’s in the Oval Office. After all, it would be more than a little embarrassing as well as a little shortsighted  for the leader of the free world to ask pop for some matrimony money when he can just sup it from the gravy of some pork barreled bill.

As far as my daughter goes, I just bought her the movie Eat, Pray, Love with the preface that she pay extra close attention to the parts where men are seen as nothing more than sex objects. The theme of the story from what I understand is that a woman’s freedom is tantamount to currency and as such is quite valuable. More so than dad’s pocket book, anyway.

Perhaps she is a bit young for such brainwashing, but it sure beats the hell out of pawning her off on Prince Harry’s family with no real guarantee he’ll become the boss of the family one day. At least Priscilla’s folks were safe in the knowledge their little girl was marrying the King.

As far as my lovely little cousin is concerned, I am afraid I won’t be able to attend the affair. For one thing, it’s too reminiscent of Groundhog Day. For another, she’s much too young to carry any real intrigue- for it’s the promise of mayhem which would most likely impulse me to show up for dinner and a show. The girl doesn’t possess a nefarious bone in her body now that she has rid herself of husband number one. And husband number two is much too nice, and what’s worse he rarely drinks.

Making the scene of her second wedding would be akin to showing up at the scene of a potential drowning to find a goldfish puckering up to the pavement with clouded eyes and a mischievous smile that says “gotcha sucka!”

Shit, I’m just going to send her a gift. Something practical as she ventures into her first real adult marriage, like say a vibrator. Or maybe an ankle monitor so’s she can keep her father from venturing out of town, to say . . Brazil.

I’ll attach a heartfelt note expressing my best wishes and promising my appearance at her next marital attempt.

Is that worth an oops?


2 thoughts on “I won’t get fooled again

  1. I attend all my relatives weddings, but only to get extraordinarily drunk. So I can see your reluctance to attend.

    I like the thought of a note, you should put something along the lines of “Sorry I missed this one, but third time’s the charm, right? See ya in a few years!”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s