pretty. just. desserts.

A drunk bride is a happy bride.

I have two older sisters. One is three years older, and the other is eleven years older. They are BOTH getting married in the next year and a half.

One of them is having a destination wedding in Cuba, and the other is having a traditional wedding here in Barrie. Now, I’ve only been in one bridal party. And I was six years old at the time. My job consisted of looking cute, smiling, and scattering flowers. Simple enough, right? Right.

Now I’m realizing that there is nothing simple about weddings. There are angles I hadn’t even considered. And hidden costs all over the place. Churches cost a fortune to book. Conversely, outdoor weddings are equally expensive. The dinner. The hall. The dress. The limo.

It’s like the biggest and most stressful prom you’ll ever attend.

And what is the real point? To stand in front of your loved ones and tie your life to another person? To vow unto them in public that you’ll be loyal no matter the circumstances? Is that piece of paper so crucial to attain that people are willing to put themselves into serious debt and accumulate a decent amount of gray hair? And if so, why?

When I was younger I had the same idealistic dreams about getting married and planning a wedding. I wanted to wear the white dress, and make a speech. Flash-bulbs and champagne.

But as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that the most romantic thing about marriage is the idea of being with one person for the rest of my life. If that’s the most important thing to me, why do I need a legal contract to make it come true? Doesn’t the official nature of a wedding rob that idea of its romance? In my mind it does.

I am happy to help my sisters plan their weddings, and I know that I will toast them and shed a tear and be proud of them on their special day.

But I also know that I was meant to avoid all of this wedding hoopla and just live peacefully and happily in sin.