Please note: I didn’t title this one – “Why I won’t be in your STUPID wedding” and despite that, all of my friends saw the title and collectively gasped about the subject. See, they secretly believe (and some are not quite so secret about it) that I can’t write a post that’s not specific to the stupid wedding sideshow I refuse to be in (I get one freebie in the post). I consider this a challenge. They’ve thrown down the satin elbow gloves with pearl heart cutouts and I’m here to prove them wrong (to the best of my ability).

Let’s start with the basics:
1) I’ve been in all the weddings I care to be in and if you’re still single, God made the Justice of the Peace just for your special occasion. Trot him out to your backyard if a court house is too impersonal. I’ll be there.
2) Dresses – There was a time that I could be talked into petticoats or the occasional hoop skirt – a time when sea foam green with matching dyed satin shoes wouldn’t force my eyes into the back of my head. That time was 15 years ago. Unless you have a time machine, you’ve missed your window. In fact, the best dresses came from Anna & Jonathan’s weddinng. If I knew where those pictures were, I’d post them. (hint: Anna). So basically, you’d still have to have that time machine and you’d have to become Anna to get me into a bridesmaid dress and I’m fairly certain, Anna isn’t going to let you possess her body on that day – she’s got control issues.
3) Hair – I’m not getting it done. I’m not paying $100+ to have some sadistic hairdresser shellac my hair in Aquanet while stabbing me in the head with a million bobby pins to get that perfect up-do.
4) Nails – It will take an act of God to ever let anyone touch my nails again. The last time I tried to be “girly” I got my toe cut off. The attendant, or whatever you call those vicious little sharp instrument wielders, and I looked down at my gushing big toe in horror. Everyone who was there, including me, shared the same thought “oh shit, that’s it for Beth.” Plus, if we’re talking feet – it’s like putting make-up on the dog – there ain’t no point, these guys don’t get any cuter with polish. Now if we’re strictly talking fingers, suffice it to say I’m not masochistic enough to have anyone grind my nail beds down with a sander ever again. I accept that my hands look like I dig rocks for a living and you accept that super gluing ceramic anything to them won’t make them prettier. My hands look great digging up rocks, so unless you’re getting married in a quarry or a mine, don’t ask if I’ll stand up for you.
5) Hats – My big melon does not accommodate most dainty lady hats. (See analogy about make-up and your pet.)
6) The Beer Fountain and Goldfish – As lovely as that sounds, it will just be blog fodder. Please don’t force me to whip caterers around to make that happen. I’d rather be in the audience or gargling glass.
7) And the big one. I’m at an age where my friends got married and had kids – the stage where I’m waiting for graduation invitations so I can write a check, wait 4-5 more years and write another check. I’m moved past the “yay, I get to be in a wedding phase”.

Of course, with everything there is an exception. If you seriously want me to be in your wedding or your re-wedding, here’s the condition you have to meet: You must get married (re-married) at the Star Trek Hilton on the bridge of the Enterprise. You do that for me, and not only will I attend, I’ll dress for the occasion. I may come as an Andorran! You never know. Other than that, I’ll see you at your kid’s weddings – heck, I’m even willing to help out at those.

(Psst, How did I do?)