Here Comes The Pride

(April 03, 2002)

So this teenaged girl is just kind of puttering around in her house, right? Minding her own business? Maybe churning some butter or darning a frock. And suddenly the door bursts open and some guys rush in and carry her off. The girl's family is freaking out, tries to run after the kidnappers and get their little girl back, but the main kidnapper left behind a second-in-command and a crew of loyal friends who fend off the desperate family. He hides her away and no one can find her. A week later, the same bunch of loyal friends order her dressed her up and drape some fabric over her head so she can't be identified. They transport her to some kind of church. She is forced to stand at an altar. The kidnapper is on her right, his sword hand kept free for fighting in case her family finally finds her. Some other guy is officiating, telling her what to say and when, and at some point all these people start yelling and throwing cake at her head. Suddenly, she finds she's being assaulted as the mob starts grabbing and tearing at her dress because it's "good luck." The same crew that got her to this church carries her away, back into hiding again, where she is raped by the man she now understands she's married to. When he is sure she's impregnated, the girl is allowed to come back out from hiding, to live in this guy's house for the rest of her natural life. The guy gives her father some money to make it all better. The bargaining process for a fair price is called the "wedding."

A few centuries later and a world of people, who're perfectly nice and ordinary otherwise, are trying to trick me. They say I'm not actually in a meaningful relationship. Not unless I wear a veil, get a bridal party, eat cake, and go on a honeymoon. Being naturally inquisitive, I have to ask,"Why?" A blank look is usually my only reply, followed by a whole lot of crap that essentially boils down to "Because."

If I'm feeling adventurous, I might take it further. "Do you know," I ask, "how come the bride stands on the groom's left? And what, I wonder if you can tell me, is the bridal party for? What do they DO there, standing there kind of just...there?" They don't know. They haven't THOUGHT about it, it just IS because it's always been done that way. Oh yes, that's my favorite answer of all time.

Listen. I don't like weddings. I don't like weddings. I don't like weddings and did I mention that I'm not crazy too much about, y'know, weddings? Me saying that, it has nothing to do with YOU. YOU can throw a wedding every five years if you want. I'll still come, I'll still celebrate YOUR happiness and, y'know, get you the gravy boat or whatever crap-you'll-never-use that you registered for, and here's a hundred bucks too, with my love. But I ain't doing it, personally, myself. You can't make me. And stop trying to change my mind, do you think that's going to work? How would THAT conversation go exactly? What's that? Oh, you say that scenario I outlined of "bridesmen" or "bridesknights" helping to capture the girl and transporting her to the church and then to the groom's house for impregnating was only the EARLY weddings, like from the 14th century? They don't tear off the bride's dress in tatters anymore? The garter thing happens instead. Hm...but...oh, the cake doesn't symbolize fertility anymore? It's only dessert. Well...I'm still not sure...what? Oh, there's teensy hotdogs and ice sculptures and the hokey pokey now? Oh, well, I didn't know there was the HOKEY POKEY. That changes EVERYTHING. I was so WRONG. The western wedding ceremony isn't rooted in misogyny at ALL. Bring on the Chicken-or-Beef cards and get me to the Crate and Barrel Bridal Registry, 'cuz I'm a gittin' me one a them gravy boats!

I don't know how I escaped it, but when I was a little girl I never ran around with a white slip on my head playing "bride." I never pretended some boy in first grade was my husband. I never got a Here Comes The Bride Barbie to preen and primp and marry off to my teddy bear. I never gazed at brides on TV in wondrous awe, nor hoped and dreamed someday to be as beautiful. I never really thought about getting married. My first long-term boyfriend, this Iranian ("ve like to say Persian in my houze") guy named Iraj, had kind of assumed we'd get married. I was all "Huh?" When he got transferred from Iona in New Rochelle up to SUNY Buffalo, he assumed I'd go with him. "Dude, I'm kinda busy here," was my answer. I had like, a million plates spinning. BUFFalo? What would I do in BUFFALO? What does ANYone do in Buffalo, really. Pop out babies and shovel snow is my guess.

A couple of boyfriends later and I realized that Iraj had had a really tiny weiner, too. I didn't know until we'd broken up because I had nothing to compare it to. Later I liked to joke that in retrospect I didn't really LOSE my virginity to Iraj so much as forget where I put it for awhile. Some other day I can tell you about the next boyfriend, a 40 year old British guitar player. It was all over after that.

So anyway. Weddings. Yeah, no thanks. You have a good time though, and I'll even dance with you at yours. But me, seriously. I'm not having one. Seriously dude. I can't DO it. I can't think about what the whole ceremony thing was, whether it was the capture-and-rape thing or the thing where the father sold off his girls for breeding purposes or whatever. It's like the swastika issue. Used to be a perfectly ordinary Indian symbol. In and of itself, a swastika IS still a perfectly ordinary Indian symbol. Only it's not and we all know it. Would you go around wearing a swastika? It's the same thing that makes me say "No fucking way." No WAY am I having some lame-ass white dress wedding with a single trapping that ever started out as something horrible that any woman back through the ages had to go through. I'm not having any of it symbolize my "big day."

Okay? Is that OKAY WITH EVERYONE?

Fine. Thank you. Let's move on.

And I don't want to hear a word when you come over and I serve you gravy in a perfectly ordinary bowl. Gravy boat, are you kidding?