Will and I were at a the wedding of a friend of his a couple of weeks ago. I had met the friend twice and his bride all of none times, but the best thing about weddings is that there's an open bar everyone's incredibly happy to be there, celebrating in the couple's special day.
The reception was held in the old Public Library in Redondo Beach, right on the water. Along with the theme, there was a card catalog table set up with notecards and pens, so you could write something and file it away for the happy couple.
Will and I each took a card. He was finished writing long before I was. He grabbed me a glass of wine from the bar and brought it back as I filed my card in the catalog.
How long does it take to write Best Wishes? he asked.
Oh, I thought it was for advice. I stammered.
What did you card say?
Um, I might have used the word 'asshole.'
He shrugged. You're probably the only one to write 'asshole' on their wedding cards.
I took a sip of wine. Twice.
His eyebrows shot up.
Look! Mini pizzas!
...
For the record, I wrote something akin to this:
On your wedding day, you're going to get all sorts of advice, but there's always going to be someone who says "don't ever go to bed angry." If you don't go to bed angry, you might not get any sleep. And it's never a good idea to argue when you're exhausted. So I'll say this: when they're acting like an asshole, just remember: they're your asshole. That's the asshole you fell in love with, and you still love. Don't forget that part.
(Okay, so three times.)
