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I don’t know about you people, but whenever I get a wedding invitation, I start to spew chunks all over the fine furnishings of my luxury co-op. What the invite signals is the realization that I’ll be flushing away an entire day spent awkwardly standing around in a borrowed suit and gnawing at generic catered crabcakes and cannoli, all while having to cheer on two people I like who will surely be at each other’s throats in six months.
What’s worse, it means I have to go out and get a freakin’ gift! How many effin’ blenders can I buy in one lifetime–and how many times can I polish them up so they look like they cost more than $20?
And now, with gay marriage becoming a reality in certain states–and eventually in this one–every gay I know is going to want to make his/her relationship legal, which is perfectly understandable. But why drag me into this? I never hurt anybody and I never forced anyone to come to my weddings! Why does your decision to tie the knot have to result in me eating sour fish tacos, engaging in small talk with people who think I’m caca, and spending hard-earned cash on a present you’ll surely throw out the second the room clears?
I am sick over this!