Thursday, July 3, 2008


So I have been to a fair number of weddings this summer. The time it takes me to go from entering the wedding to crying tears of happiness is proportional to the number of days until my wedding, as the various brides and wedding guests can surely attest to. Probably a photographer or two as well. I am increasingly worried for my own pending nuptials.

I didn't used to be like this. I was a cynical, heartless viper when it came to all things treacle*. But now, for the love of God, I am an emotional wreck. I'm even crying right now. Seriously. It's a good thing I have my office to myself. I am truly afraid that I am not going to be able to get through the processional without my face becoming puffy and bloated from the floodgates of joyful emotion. So I need a pro-active solution

I could try yoga or meditation or some other new-agey homeopathic touchy-feely garbage. But not only am I highly skeptical of anything remotely connected to mindful breathing or southern California, that stuff is, like, time-consuming. I believe in the quick fix; better living through modern chemistry. And here-in lies the problem.

They don't make don't-cry-at-your-own-wedding drugs. I know. I've looked.

I suppose social anxiety medicine would work but I know a guy who took propranolol before a public speaking event and, well, let's just say it was less than ideal. So maybe I'll just pop a few xanies right before and hope for the best. It's not like I have to remember anything more complicated than "I do."

*This might not be entirely accurate. Some of you may remember the time(s) when I (theater geek alert!) sobbed uncontrollably when Gavroche was shot. And maybe Fantine. And others. But I did not, I repeat, did not cry during Miss Saigon. A boy must have standards.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I have no thoughtful or helpful comments to make about the crying sitch, just that I love the word treacle almost as much as I love the fact that it was used in this post.