Sharon and I sat in the airport waiting several hours for our flight home and we were already exhausted from witnessing a wedding.
We were among several elders at the wedding where it was our sacred duty to observe and to approve what we had seen.
What we witnessed proved that this new married couple had passed with flying colors, especially the bride, of course. But that’s no surprise. Brides are much better at such ceremonies because they were born beautiful.
None of the males in our family have ever been accused of being beautiful. Let’s face it, gentlemen, we are at a disadvantage during a wedding. The preacher’s blatant mission is to keep the spotlight on the bride, and you can forget any chance you will have to dazzle anyone.
If the whole show turns her into a dazzling flower of a person — a queen, a star, a human jewel — you know the best you can do is to serve as her drab backdrop.
Even if you harbor some laughable delusion that you could be as beautiful as she is, you have no idea how much you are handicapped by the way that woman surpasses you. She is the glimmering Northern lights, and we males are mangy goats.
After all, she is the wedding star and you are an extra. If you have any doubts about that, look at her other extras, the bridesmaids. They are wearing dresses almost as attractive as the bride’s, but they are not totally as beautiful as she is. Nobody but the bride is permitted that much beauty. I certainly wasn’t given any such opportunity.
So what do you and your groomsmen wear?
She and her mother fib to you and tell you how great you will look in a tuxedo. You buy into that, of course, because you’re smitten with the bride and will wear whatever you’re told to wear.
By comparison, you and your male team of yokels are dressed in tuxedos — a dreary black suit. A tuxedo is about 80 years out of date and looks like something that was made for an emperor penguin.
Don’t even try to interfere with wedding details. You have no right or ability to override the opinion of a determined mother of the bride. And if you stupidly try, be afraid. Be very afraid. A wedding is not a democracy.
After something as exhausting as witnessing a wedding, Sharon (my eternally beautiful bride) and I sat in that airport waiting room having agreed the bride won the beauty contest that men in drab penguin suits could never equal.
Having done our duty that day as geriatric judges of the wedding, we turned toward other lives not quite so real. We both had e-books and soon forgot where we were. We buried ourselves in reading and thus in imaginary lives of fictional men and women who had looked into each other’s eyes across a crowded room
When you’re waiting for a plane or a train or watching a Seahawks game or just dozing off after another family wedding, you sit there having two choices — read a book or start snoring. We chose books.
Suddenly, a middle-aged woman with a smug voice was nearly shouting into her cell phone, mentioning how clever she was about something.
That drowned out our reading.
Next a man, who seemed to be a salesman, began bellowing into his cellphone. And neither the loud woman nor the loud man was as beautiful as I was at my wedding to Sharon.
But there is nothing beautiful about the angry crusade I will now be leading to bring back soundproof phone booths in public places.
Contact Bill Hall at firstname.lastname@example.org or at 1012 Prospect Ave., Lewiston, ID 83501.