Recently, I received an e-mail wedding invitation from a young couple I have never met. The groom contacted me through his grandmother’s address book, which obviously hadn’t been buried with her when she died two years ago. The invitation announced that the wedding would be an “outdoor adventure” held in a cabin in the woods in a far, far away forest in Minnesota. A map was attached.
The couple suggested that after arriving by plane people should car pool because the cabin is difficult to find. “Do not plan to arrive after dark because the dirt road has pot holes and there isn’t much parking” was their welcoming message. They also added a postscript, “No gifts, please. We have everything we need. Cash will be appreciated.” I sent my regrets and a donation in their honor to an association for the mentally challenged. Whoever came up with the lame brained idea of “destination weddings” should be booked on a cruise on the River Styx.
A couple I know insisted they be married while standing on a boulder jutting out over the Grand Canyon. When the bride’s mother was asked to step closer to the edge, she looked down and fainted. I also missed the acrophobia wedding.
However, my husband and I did attend an afternoon, 110-degree, garden wedding in Yuma Arizona. When the usher inquired, “Are you on the bride’s side or the groom’s side?” My husband, peeled off his jacket and croaked, “The shady side!” Why in the world, would anyone think it romantic to get married in an oven? I can’t remember the last time I went to a wedding of reasonably normal people.
There was the Blizzard In Indiana Wedding where the groom forgot the license, the bride forgot the cake, a busload of uninvited people from Detroit arrived, and the lights went out. We were all snowed in until the next day. That marriage didn’t last a year.
Then there was the revolving top of a hotel wedding in Atlanta. When I left the room to powder my nose, my table had spun somewhere else. I had to wait 20 minutes before it came back around. The dancers twirled one way---the room twirled the other way---and I ordered Dramamine for dessert.
My least favorite destination was a wedding held in a Bayou. For those of you who don’t speak Southern, that means swamp. The young couple thought it would be romantic. The mosquitoes found it delicious, and the ants kept busy playing footsie with the guests. The motorboats drowned out the vows, and the reception involved some serious grazing because the couple practiced devout veganism. I finally understand why people cry at weddings. It’s not the emotion. It’s the sunburn.
Esther Blumenfeld (out of the quagmire and into the reception line)