Let me state for the record that I am the most happily married man I know.
So why do I find myself cursing every time I sift through the Weddings Page in the Sunday Times? Is it because the people who choose to acknowledge their nuptials there fall into very specific catergories:
1. Ivy League Educated
2. Doctors, Lawyers, Hedge Funders or conversely, school teachers, museum curators, non-profiteers
3. Parents with important jobs (past or present)
Or is it because they are the same type of people to send with their holiday card a recounting of the past year’s successes like we – a.) care or b.) actually believe that anyone’s life could be so perfect.
I’ve often fanticized about sending our holiday card with a note saying something along the lines of:
“Eric and Linda did the best they could in 2009, what with the boys lagging so far behind in their reading skills, their lack of interest in anything besides video games, soda and Sugar Frosted Flakes and their basketball teams, which finished a combined 2-26 for the year. Linda works long hours with little praise while Eric continues to beat himself up for not making more of his Fine Arts degree.”
But in the (un)real world, life for those getting married could not be better, with happy couples running down the aisle, albeit trying to be mindful of upsetting their poor friends by throwing subdued and understated receptions, ones that ironically cost more than the previously traditional shindig at Bacara.
Wedding food now, formerly caviar and truffle encrusted Kobe beef has now been recessioned to look like mini cheeseburgers and slumdog desserts like pie and cupcakes. Said food is “passed from person to person”, while thirsty guests will have to pour their own wine, you know, like actual life.
But these same people, hoping to present such an austere picture for their guests can’t seem to contain themselves in telling reporters that such charades break the bank as well. Don’t feel sorry for us they’ll whisper, we just want our friends to think we’re just like them.
My news flash to these insufferable souls is this, authenticity can’t be faked by some creative caterer or moonlighting production designer. If you want to have a down home backyard wedding, have it at *your* backyard, with its overgrown grass and undergrown hillside (wait, that’s my backyard). If cheeseburgers are what you’re after, have the mobile In-n-Out Truck showup in your driveway. You get the idea…
Even though my wedding was in a magical setting at a fancy hotel with hundreds of guests in the bang-bang late 90′s, I can’t tell you anything about the food, the wine or the conversation. There were only two people in the room that day – and I didn’t care if anyone else knew it or not. That’s authentic.
