Insane in the membrane

We are in the midst of preparing for Sister’s wedding in October.  I’m not big on the traditional American wedding, especially in this climate of one-upmanship and extravagance.  I’m not a bow gal, or into glitter or lace or bling.  I think spending $20,000 on a party for one day is ridiculous (actually, that’s self-censoring.  I think that quantity of money for a wedding clearly places us in the land of redonkulous given the expected number of guests). I hate dresses and am literally (I do mean literally) learning how to walk in heels.  One inch heels, might I add.  I believe most thirteen years olds learn this?

I’m at the point where enrolling in Lamaze classes would probably prove equally beneficial to me, the very non-pregnant person, as the expecting parents who would be my classmates.

I’ve found myself tuning out discussions of which style of ribbon to use for the garter and ring pillow.  Leaving the room when discussions about which shade of table drape matches the color scheme best.  Disengaging from conversations about whether seven flowers or eight look best in the centerpieces.

Who friggin cares.  No one will two days later.  No one goes to weddings to nitpick.  Or no one worth inviting, anyway.  (No, my family really should not be invited to Bridezilla or the like.  Sister’s wedding is totally typical American, no extravagances or demands. I’m just not into them.)

So, to counter act this new tendency and curmudgeonly attitude of mine, I’ve found myself reading a lot about Jewish weddings.  It’s somewhat comical how awful my ninth grade Honors English class was—the teacher would leave my eighth period (the last period of the day) class three times a week to watch Veggie Tales so she could go pick up her children from a middle school across town and drop them off at home, as one of many examples of how crazy the course was.  Somehow we managed to read Romeo and Juliet and be assigned a research project on the wedding customs of one culture.

I’ll give you three guesses as to which culture I picked.

It’s refreshing for me to reconnect with the Jewish rituals that first impressed me.  It makes me wonder if my family will feel as fish-out-of-water while preparing for mine (G-d willing!) one day, but right now, it is the only thing keeping me sane.

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