By Maria Jiunta Heck | Weekender Correspondent
August 26, 2014
We recently attended a cousin’swedding, and it was lovely. All weddings are lovely with all that new beginning and fresh love stuff and ‘till-death-or-dirty-socks-do-us-part propaganda. But instead of hearing the heartfelt vows being exchanged, all I heard were wads of cash wafting through the air and landing in the toilet. These poor kids; how does anyone pay for a wedding these days? By selling their kidney and spleen on eBay? It’s ludicrous. By the time my own kids get married the cost will be so prohibitive they’ll only be able to afford to get married on my porch, with the sound of mating cats as their background music and entrees of carrots and pretzels. Cash bar with tap water only.
Wedding gowns alone cost thousands more than my first car. Now, it’s true my father bought me a used mail truck as my inaugural ride (true story) but you catch my drift. A wedding gown can run anywhere from $900 to $10,000; a gown that will be on a body for less time than it sometimes takes me to shave, shower and make a healthy deposit in the toilet. That’s an average cost of $1000 per each hour of the wedding! That money could feed a small village in Somalia…or me.
For my own wedding back in the Jurassic period, I donned my mother-in-law’s wedding gown. I want to say it was for sentimental reasons but I saved a crap-load of dough by doing so. It was worn by her, circa 1957, when dresses had pointy darts up around the earlobes, but it had a certain je n’est sais que and the que was FREE. I was smart enough at that time to realize we needed to pay-back school loans instead of buying a wedding gown. Or a honeymoon. Or a fluffy engagement ring. Or food.
As a youngster, I remember when Barbie and Ken were united in marriage by Pastor Skipper at the Barbie Campsite. I outfitted the bride-to-be in a figure flattering toilet paper confection with a stunning shoelace belt, and a veil made from a cupcake liner stapled to her head. Despite the cranial damage, she was so happy! And when Ken met her on top of the camper (so romantic) he was speechless. Well he was always speechless. His wedding ensemble consisted of swim trunks, a terry cloth robe and bare feet. And guess where they went on their honeymoon? That’s right…they took the Barbie 747 right to my bathtub and enjoyed spa time for a few hours until I dried them off and stuck them in my mother’s terrarium. Jungle honeymoon! Barbie knew they didn’t need to spend their last pretend dollar on a wedding in order to be a joyful plastic pair forever and ever!
Realistically, within the next decade, it’ll be time for my kids to potentially consider marriage. I’m holding out hope that one elopes, one joins the monastery and one is halfway through his prison sentence. That’s a joke. I hope.
In any case, I’m actually prepared for my daughter’s future nuptials. Every time I go to Sam’s I buy a pallet of Charmin. I should have enough for a gown, with a train, by 2024. I may have to staple a coffee filter-veil to her head, but there’s always pain in thriftiness. Barbie knows.