Screw you and your destination wedding: an open letter
Dear friends having a destination wedding,
Thank you so much for the engraved invitation to come “share in your joy”. I've spent the last three months looking at your smiling faces on the “Save The Date” refrigerator magnet every time I went for condiments and tonic water, and I’m thankful I can now take it down and put the number for Papa John’s back where it rightfully belongs.
But you know what I’m not thankful for? You having your wedding on some far-flung island with a name like Ste. Baarthaanique, which I’m pretty sure is French for “Land of the $27 hamburger”.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you. And if I didn’t have to Google the name of the island to find out which ocean it’s in, I’d 100% be there. But what you’ve done here is ensure the only part of your wedding I see is the part on Instagram. And here’s why.
Not sure if you’ve been watching the news for the past, oh, seven years or so, but the economy is “recovering” about as well as Robert Downey Jr. And when my idea of a splurge on dinner is ordering the BIG steak at Outback, well, the feeling that comes with dropping several grand to see you get hitched isn’t exactly what I’d call “joy”.
But assuming I did put this trip on my credit card (and paid it off well after your divorce), I still have to take three connecting flights to get to this “secluded” island; one of which is probably on a plane that has no doors and is flown by a guy named Kojo, who I’m pretty sure smoked his breakfast.
Yea, ending a 14-hour travel day by almost dying on a prop plane isn’t exactly going to leave anyone looking “good” in that “Guests Arrive” section of your wedding album.
And then, if I do get past the cash-crippling plane ticket and the back-crippling connecting flights, I now have to shell out another $385 a night -- thanks wedding block discount! -- to stay at whatever four-star resort you’ve chosen for your special day. Because it’s not like there’s a Motel 6 down the road where I can save a few bucks. Leave the resort, and your options are basically get kidnapped or get mugged.
Even if I was the odd friend who actually has the money to fly halfway around the world, you know what I don’t have? Time. Those two weeks a year I get off are usually reserved for away football games and visiting my Mom. So your wedding has now displaced either football or Mom. I hope you're happy.
Go ahead and serve your wedding cake with a heaping scoop of terrorists and communism.
And you’re probably justifying this ludicrous idea by saying “the people who really care will come”. But you're wrong! What you should say is, “the people who really make a lot of money will come”. Yes, it will be a wedding filled with your richest, most entitled friends. Enjoy your special day.
Because you know that friend who you never want to admit you only hang around because he’s rich?
Meet your Best Man.
It’s okay, it's cool; when your poor friends back home search #markandtracyinparadise, we’ll know who your REAL friends are.
Just don’t be upset when the people most important to you stay home. It’s not that we’re choosing money over you. We’re choosing missing your wedding over bankruptcy. Enjoy your week in Ste. Baarthanique guys, and know there’s a lovely MACY’s duvet cover waiting for you when you get back -- just from me!
Best of luck,