To be fair, they're not literal ones. And they're not mine.
No, no, I fear that I can only hope to end up a slightly less open shirted, perhaps less bouffant sporting, straighter (ish) blogosphere equivalent to mister Stephen Morrissey. Any requests of marriage will likely be humbly deflected- "Thank you, but no. I will live my life, as I/ will undoubtedly die...Aloooone....[on the internet].”
So, anyway- it's my little sister- who happens to be a solid three inches BIGGER than me (that's vertically, not horizontally, ah cha cha!)- who's doing the marryin'.
But get this- Who should be the one to write the vows? OH THAT'S RIGHT- IT IS ME. YOUR OCASSIONALLY HUMBLE NARRATOR. Those vow writing-monopoly having Washington fat cats are shaking in their diamond studded kleenex box booties, to be sure. There's a new vow writing cat in town... and he's been described by sevveral parties as "downright Svelte."
It's a simple ceremony, officiated by my uncle, who also happens to be a lawyer. It's taking place at a private residence- our family's lake house, and the catering is all very simple. So logistically, things have been relatively easy- though my mother and sister and brother in law of the future might say otherwise...they’re the ones doing the literal heavy lifting. My only job is to WRITE THE DAMN WORDS THAT WILL MAKE THE WEDDING HAPPEN.
So how did I do this? Well, for starters, I asked my sister what she wanted me to say. And that helped. The good thing about it is that she has a very down to Earth, realist view of marriage- to her, marriage is a contract, a continuation of a relationship that has been up and running for almost two years now. The trick is synthesizing all of these ideas into something simple, concise, and palatable for a mixed audience. We’re dispensing of almost all of the traditional trappings of a wedding ceremony- something that I think a lot more people do now than ever before. It almost goes without saying that no big “G words” will be dropped at any point during the vows, benediction or [hopefully, barring the appearance of that weird aunt and uncle that I have yet to meet or know of] the reception.
Yet, without the capital “G,” and without the big, neon purple declarations of love, or like, Jell-O bungee jumping, what does the humble wedding copywriter have to work with, besides this dry, pragmatic assessment, which (small “g” gawd help us) is the naked truth of the situation?
Well, I’m two drafts in, and the Wedding is Saturday. I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, I bid you a fond farewell from the land of SEX WITH ME IS RAD- where it’s [hopefully going to be] a nice day for a white wedding…[come Saturday]”
