The thing about weddings…

Diary,

While attending the wedding of my good friend Todd, I came upon an enlightening realisation. The entire wedding industry has everything in common with its drug counterpart. Both are geared towards addiction and the proliferation of dependency. You know I’m vexed when I start using big words.

But seriously, what can result out of spending several hours staring at women dressed in matching outfits? The male brain is conditioned to be attracted to uniforms. Nurses, stewards, waitresses. Even a policewoman will cause an avalanche of testosterone in the body of a thief she is arresting. What’s supposed to happen when you have a parade of pretty women in uniform dancing into a romantic setting?

Then, at some point, the bride turns her back to her maids and tosses her bouquet, and the woman to catch it first is next in line for marriage. That’s like dangling a gin and tonic in the face of an alcoholic. And the way the bridesmaids jump for the flowers, you can tell they’ve been taking more than orange juice at the high table.

And I think there’s a rule against turning down romantic advances at weddings. The Elephant Man could pick up the prettiest lady at a wedding if he only looks her way. Not to mention that most weddings take place in church, the one place where everyone feels free to act holier-than-thou without fear of reprisal. I’ve seen girls throwing up margaritas outside clubs on Saturday nights and jumping like angels as they lead praise and worship sessions in church on Sunday. And all I can think is, “Surely, it can’t be her. She must have a rowdy twin.”

And talking of looking holy, is that Annabelle getting hitched in a white gown? The same woman who changed the venue to Mombasa to avoid three exes in Nairobi who have no clue she’s getting married? And don’t get me started on Todd and his small notebook, in which he jots his conquests like Alexander the Great ticking off conquered cities in Macedon.

Do I make weddings sound like one big orgy? That’s because they are.