Getting Married

Women are strange. And I say that with the utmost respect since I just carried about 100 Crate & Barrel boxes into my 700 square foot apartment, all gifts from the assorted women in my life. But having just survived my first (and hopefully last) wedding shower, I feel that I am writing as somewhat of an expert in this matter.

Of all the weird experiences in planning a wedding, the wedding shower may be the weirdest. I was the only male in attendance, totally enveloped in estrogen. And while being the only guy was somewhat overwhelming at times, I am also pretty sure, better yet praying, that I had the biggest package there. So that’s one check for the pro column.

If you haven’t been to a wedding shower before- and I guess in many states the grooms never attend- this is what goes on. Showers are kind of like junior high dances except with less grinding and more crockery. Every woman shows up in her shower best; you can just tell that a lot of your guests have “shower go-to’s.” There is a lot of small talk and like most guys I loathe small talk. So much so that at times I am pretty sure that I was speaking just flat-out gibberish to guests.

Just like junior high, there are cliques. One group of ladies is your mother’s friends; another is your father’s friend’s wives. There will be a group of younger women there, usually your friends or your buddies’ significant others. And all your female relatives. All the groups hopefully get along and will mingle but they’re definitely sitting at their own cafeteria table.

Then you get to center stage. My brother was literally on a stage for his shower. Sucker. My fiancé and I were merely seated in front of everyone in my aunt’s living room. Not quite as theatrical. Then the present opening starts, which is pretty much the most awkward moment of the entire pre-wedding process. Maybe showers were a necessity in the olden days when no one ever lived together and you never owned a piece of flatware until after you built your log cabin. But in the 21^st Century, showers are essentially a way for Crate & Barrel, Williams-Sonoma and Bed, Bath & Beyond to stay in business.

There is a reason that people stop bringing presents to your birthday parties when you’re 21, 25, 30, wicked old. It’s just strange to expect your friend to schlep to a store and spend money on you. If one of my friends ever bought me a birthday present that wasn’t either alcohol or steak, we wouldn’t be friends anymore. Guys just don’t buy other guys stuff that they themselves want. It’s just the way it is. Showers essentially take a giant dump on that treasured male maxim’s head.

Everyone brings you a gift. And you open every single gift in front of every single person and you have to hold up the gift for everyone to see, even if it’s a gigantic KitchenAid mixer that weighs more than your fiancé. For your shower guests, half the fun is seeing what the other people bought because whenever more than two women get together in a room, as a rule, a competition breaks out.

All the women sit there and act absolutely impeccably, ohhing and ahhing every cheese grater and wine glass, but you know that deep down they all want to have scorecards, like judges at the Olympics. They want to rate the wrapping jobs, they want to rate the card, they want to rate the creativity of the gift, they want to rate the cost of the gift versus the relationship to the couple. And as a couple, you sit there, 100 eyeballs staring you down, struggling to open the sealed Crate & Barrel boxes that could survive a fall from the stratosphere, reading the card and trying to locate the right face (and if you’re Irish or Italian Catholic from Greater Boston, at least half of the women at the shower will be Mary or Maria), praying that someone doesn’t give you something so ghastly that you break out into hysterical laughter.

Luckily, I survived the shower and definitely came out a winner, thanks to all the crazy ladies who spent way too much money on us. And with just a little over three months until the big day, I have some other advice to pass on to the future grooms of Barstool Sports.

1. Get involved. I think the stupidest thing I hear most guys say is “I don’t care. It’s my fiancé’s day.” Really, are you and your friends not going? I know what my friends need to have a good time and I want to make sure that it’s there in abundance. And primarily, that’s a ton of booze. But you don’t want to give over total control of the day to your fiancé. You may not care about the color pattern but you’ll care what music is played, how long the cocktail hour is, what hors d’oeuvres are served, how many photos of your shit-faced friends you end up with. Sack up, be a man and tell the future mother of your children that the band is playing a selection of Irish drinking songs or you’re taking back the ring.
2. Find people you trust. I live about three blocks away from my wedding photographer. I see him randomly. That’s a good thing. My photographer is a great guy and I have total confidence that’s he’s not going to spend my ceremony getting hammered in a bathroom but I still like the fact that I know where he lives. And that he knows I know. You are vulnerable on your wedding day. There is very little standing between you and total disaster. That day is like house of cards. One of your vendors screws you and that entire house may collapse. As often as possible, find vendors- photographers, caterers, cake makers, dj’s or bands- who you have some sort of personal connection with and who look at your wedding date as an experience and not just a paycheck. And try to find out where they live so you can firebomb their houses if your fiancé spends the entire day in tears because the band doesn’t show.
3. Lay down the law to the parents. A lot of people are blessed to have parents who will be footing a large chunk of the bill and you can’t thank them enough. But don’t let them strong-arm you on decisions, especially the guest list. It’s your wedding, not your parents’ wake. The first thing I did when I was dealing with my parents was give them a list of their friends that I wanted at the wedding. Then I gave them some wild card spots to fill in. The fact is if your parents are even the least bit social and don’t live in a secluded cabin in Maine they will have a million friends to invite. And they’ll want to invite them all. Put your foot down.
4. Remember that it’s a wedding for you but a party for everyone else. Sure, people will be touched at the ceremony but after that people want booze, food and music. Booze, food, music. Booze, food, music. Booze, food, music. Nothing else really matters. Live and die with those three words. Booze, food, music.
5. Watch all the crazy wedding shows with your fiancé. You may be the worst fiancé in the history of marriage. You may have proposed via your cell phone while seated on perverts’ row at Centerfolds. You may have told your fiancé that she definitely needs to lose some pounds if she wants to fit into that bikini for the honeymoon. You may have sealed all the wedding invitations with Bazooka Joe. But the idiots on the incessant stream of wedding-reality shows that your fiancé will watch will top you every time. As bad as you can be, these guys will one up you. They’ll be your best friends.