For some, the term “wedding season”—which I’ve always found to be meaningless, as people are getting married all the damn time, especially as I start to close the book on my twenties—conjures up an image of joyous celebration.
For those people, weddings are a chance to come together and celebrate love in its most grand and socially acceptable way. And for others, it means preparing for a slew of stuffy, hellacious, and bank-breaking obligations; a “chance” to come together with 200 strangers, all on a spectrum of sweatiness, to mindlessly observe a ceremony, do the Cha-Cha Slide, eat dry chicken, and hopefully take advantage of an open bar before a long-practiced Irish goodbye.
I fall firmly in the first camp. What can I say? I love love, it’s the Ugly Betty fan in me. Throw a couple up before their family and friends and I’m a teary mess. And if they write their own vows? Forget about it. The caterers will hear me sobbing from the on-premises kitchen. I believe in the power of love so hard that it offends the family of the groom I’ve never met, who are actually trying to remember this day and not edit out the sounds of my sniffles in post.
Source: The Daily Beast
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