Weddings and work

Here's an amusing and entertaining read from Scott Adams about his wedding (written hours before the ceremony). Only in this blog -- which is more of a personal blog than those discussion blogs that are really meant to take apart heavy issues and get all the viewpoints there are on the table -- have I seen posts that generate about 200 comments on the average. Once he posted a 1-liner ("I'm taking a sick day today.") and you know how many comments he got from that one line? 117!!

Hope you enjoy the following, and if you're in the mood for more funny stuff, read this one.

Wedding Day

Well, it’s wedding day. I’ll be married in about 11 hours.

This wedding has taken more planning than the invasion of Iraq. And yet there is still one guaranteed failure built into the plan: the first dance.

I’ve been taking dancing lessons for the past several months to prepare for this one specific dance. It would be fair to say that I am not gifted in the performing arts. It would be equally fair to say that I dance like a drunken monkey pissing on an electric fence.

My bride and I have practiced this nightclub style dance about 900 times. So far I have done it wrong 900 times. I wasn’t worried until yesterday because I thought we would keep practicing it all week until we nailed it. But, you know, we ran out of time and only practiced once at the rehearsal yesterday. At which point I managed to knock her sunglasses off during a turn. If you don’t know much about dancing, let me just say that if you are hitting your partner in the head with any part of your arm, you are doing it wrong.

So my beautiful bride-to-be is holed up in a hotel room an hour away, guarding the magic dress, and all I can think about is “was it quick-quick-slow or slow-quick-slow? GAAAA!!!!”

Just to make matters even more interesting, we’ve never practiced the dance while my bride was wearing a huge puffy dress. This is a bit like being a Superbowl quarterback and just before game time the ref tells you “We’ve replaced the football with a couch. You won’t even notice.”

Worse yet, the bride’s feet will be completely hidden by the dress. She could be doing the Macarena under there and no one would be the wiser. All eyes will be on my rhythm-impaired cracker legs.

So I’ve decided to lower my expectations to the point where I can’t disappoint myself no matter how much I disappoint everyone else. My new goal is to limit my bride’s bruises to body parts that won’t show up on the wedding pictures. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.

Wish me luck.