Something Different

Marco, a friend that has a widely read humor blog in SL, read my last post and got a chuckle out of my comments about marriage. (I was actually happy I was able to give him a laugh for a change.) Marco writes about a wide variety of things... I write about what I know. Marriage. So I thought 'why not'. I'll do a post here and there on my blog about marriage. It is after all my blog. Muwwwaahahaha *cough* So here's the first post....

If you're a young, wide-eyed girl thinking that the wedding is going to be your day as Princess, you're marrying Prince Charming and you'll live happily ever after, I got news for you, honey. Let's start with the wedding, shall we?

Fantasy Clashes with Reality
The Fantasy
You're radiant as you gracefully traverse the distance down the aisle to your waiting Prince Charming. The kindly, smiling minister guides the ceremony to it's inevitable conclusion of the kiss as husband and wife. The sun is shining as you exit the church arm in arm with your beloved while precious, pristine children toss flower petals at your feet while still others attend your cathedral length train. You enter a limousine that whisks you to the reception where you eat, drink and dance the night away in bliss. Around midnight you and your soulmate retire to your honeymoon suite to consummate the marriage with wild abandon.

The Reality
You've spent months planning and organizing and now you just want to get it over with. You walk down the aisle with bags under your eyes because you've been up all night having a panic about last minute things you forgot to do. The minister launches on a tirade about the sins of living together before you're married and almost refuses to marry you. The weather has crapped out and what had started off looking like a beautiful day has now clouded over and is threatening rain. Your over-zealous nephew gets a hold of a bag of confetti, grabs the closed end of the bag and with a swing of the arm that would rival a G-Force of 3, flings the entire bag at you. Still reeling from the clobbering you got from the confetti, you stagger into the back of your uncle's 1975 Ford LTD clawing at the 20 yards of fabric that make up your train to haul it into the car with you. You look like you've grown a third boob from all the confetti in your bra and discreetly try to empty it on the way to the reception.
You arrive at the reception thinking you can now relax and begin to enjoy yourself somewhat. Family and friends have other ideas. You find that not only do your mother and his mother have nothing in common, they don't get along. Various family members take turns in the coat room restraining one of the mothers while you ponder how much electricity is too much for the fence you'll need to erect to keep these two apart. As the bride, you'll get to see more of your new family. Too much. Your brother-in-law decides to present you with body parts only his wife and mother have seen up to this point. You'll now spend the rest of your life trying to replace the mental image of the body part with the picture of his face.
Things begin to wind down and you finally leave the reception. Sex? Yeah right. If you get 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep, a massage, some peace and quiet and a hot bath, you'll think about it. Besides, while you were at the reception you come home to find you've been betrayed by your friends. Condoms are strung in the most creative places and you're not sure what the substance is in the bathroom sink but you're convinced you will have to call a biohazard team with bunny suits to have it removed. The bed has been short sheeted and you keep wondering what that hideous smell is coming from the kitchen but you're too tired to do anything about it. (After some diligent hunting the next day with wads of toilet paper shoved up your nose to combat the stench you find the culprit. You then spend the next several years wondering how a piece of raw octopus managed to get lodged in the cavity of top of your stove between the burners.) For several weeks supper time will be a continual surprise since all the labels were removed off the cans in your pantry. Your husband learns not to question the fact he's being served Alpo for supper.