Personal Narrative: A Humorous Wedding

My sister had been constructing her wedding day since before she had even shared a civil glance with a boy - and why not occupy your childhood dreaming of snotty-tissues and groomsmen wearing cravates that look as if they were artfully knotted by an elephant?

The more I understand about weddings, the less tolerance I have for them. I too spent a great deal of my childhood dreaming of my big day and a beautiful gown in the colour only really flattering on corpses and infants. I even fantasized about the love of my life slumping to one knee and presenting me with a velveteen box containing a pitiable ring, which, after my ecstatic shriek of affirmation, would become the gaudiest item I would ever wear. The whole ordeal is masqueraded as a fairy tale, rather than what it truly is: fiscal incontinence that will only become pricier when a probable separation rears its uninvited head.

I was a bridesmaid and my obligation for the day was to assure partygoers – with all the vigour hidden behind my washed-out complexion – that my sister was in fact ‘ even-tempered throughout the whole process’. Above all, as a member of the wedding party, it was crucial to remember that I was a brand ambassador for the happy couple and I was encouraged to interrupt any conversation I wished as long as I lead with: “Don’t they make such a gorgeous pair?”

This is where I failed. It was hard to ignore the resemblance between the wedding gown and the pastries from the dessert table, which was equally populated by flies and singles. Women appeared disfigured with heads that were propelled forward in frivolous conversation while their bodies were pulled back by spanx. The banter between guests bounced as quickly as the bubbles in the champagne flutes that were innocuously privy to the meaningless exchanges: “How do you know the bride?” “Isn’t she breath-taking?” “Where are the newlyweds going?” (To their divorce,