Here’s the thing: weddings schmeddings

I had the opportunity to attend a wedding this weekend. Not as a guest, but rather as the help. I am much more comfortable doing this than getting dolled up and attempting small talk with people.


Side note: I used to be quite the social butterfly and LOVED parties and social interaction. The older I get, though, the more this gives me terrible anxiety and I can now only take it in small doses. Perhaps it is due in part to the fact that my younger days were pretty heavily whiskey-soaked, but whatevs. I am too old for that now and the amount of drink it would take to get me through extended socialization would also probably land me in the ER.


Anyway, the wedding. I was there to help assemble and serve the wedding cake. I wore my modern-day scullery maid outfit: black slacks, black tee and white apron. I really enjoyed hanging out in the side storage room with other workers, shit talking and joking around. When I would venture out onto the fringes of the main room, people would flag me down and ask me for things like extra chairs, more booze, food that was not on offer, etc. I would inform them that I was sorry, but that I was “there with the cake.” Every time I was asked for something outside my purview, I would add another strange detail to my explanation as to why I couldn’t help. I’m here with the cake and my hand is broken (question asker looks at my unbandaged hands and walks away). I’m here with the cake and chairs scare me. I’m here with the cake and had a lot of cabbage for lunch. I’m here with the cake, but don’t tell anyone…PLEASE (then I look away nervously and slink away).


Here’s the thing: I’ve come to the conclusion that I hate weddings. I am all for marriage and marriage equality (and, by the way, anyone who opposes marriage equality needs to get their head out of their ass and learn some humanity), but weddings (especially receptions) irritate the berjerzees out of me. I can’t stand the waste of money, the stupid traditions rooted in woman-as-possession garbage, the societal pressure to have a faux country club party that is way out of the comfort zone of most party-goers. In the event that I ever dupe some poor fella into marrying me, we’re eloping. And if, at some later date when we have the money and the time, we’ll throw a party for our friends and family. People will be able to wear whatever the hell they want. They won’t have to give gifts. There will be no matchy-matchy flowers full of pesticides and flown in from wherever. Just have some fun. Have some fun and love each other. And maybe tell people we had a lot of cabbage for lunch. That’s always fun.

Author: elizabeth dutton

i traffic in words

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