I hate weddings.
Yep, it's true. This is a super embarrassing admission for a reader, writer and lover of romantic fiction, but weddings give me hives.
That includes my own wedding. Other people's weddings. Televised weddings. Real weddings. Fake weddings. I can handle Vegas shin-digs with Elvis impersonators, but that's about it.
The only thing I hate worse than weddings would be bridal showers. I would rather have a red hot poker stabbed in my eye than attend a party where 150 women dressed in hot, uncomfortable pantyhose have to "Oooo!" and "Ahhhhh!" about a bunch of dumb wedding gifts. Seriously. If I go to hell when I die, Satan will have a never-ending bridal shower set up just for me for all of eternity.
Which brings to me to the (incredibly irritating) topic at hand. The. Royal. Wedding. The fact that the world is being bombarded by news articles daily about this affair is beyond irritating. The fact that this was an actual headline this week...."Shane Connolly Feels The Pressure As Royal Wedding Florist" is completely meshugana. (OK, so it was in People Magazine, but still......).
In theory, weddings are a lovely and romantic concept. Which is why they always turn out so great in romance novels. In reality, they're about family squabbles, dinner buffets, and how to avoid that drunk Uncle Bobby during the reception. I was a middle schooler when Diana and Charles got married. I woke up and watched with my mom and dad and sister while that poor woman was forced to march down the aisle with fifty thousand pounds of silk train trailing behind her. Even at that young, impressionable age, I knew that looked like a bad idea.
Later in life, it became readily apparent that "weddings" had nothing to do with the bride and groom, but everything to do with family obligations. "Marriage" was something altogether different. "Weddings" were about pastel colored cake and match books with your names embossed on the top, and registering for gifts at Bloomingdale's like you were on Wheel Of Fortune ("I'll take the crystal goblets for $150, Pat!"). "Marriage" was reality....you and your new hubby living on a resident's salary in the woods of Vermont. Coping with cancer and the loss of a beloved parent. Dealing with infertility struggles. You know what true romance is? Not the big grandiose affair with trumpets blasting. True romance is getting an unexpected flower bouquet from your spouse after another heart-breaking miscarriage.
So, even though I watched Diana get married many years ago, I will be skipping this year's grand televised event. (My invitation obviously got lost in the mail). I'm not sure how the whole idea of celebrating a marriage transformed into this convoluted Vegas-style show, but I'm of the opinion that less is definitely more. Maybe two people in a quiet little chapel somewhere, whispering vows to each other?
Hmm.....that sounds like a good scene for a romance novel........
Enjoying twenty years of wedded bliss,
Penelope
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