My best girl friend is getting married.  She’s most happy; of course, she has the usual doubts . . . cold feet and all.  Still, I think for her it is the right thing to do.  Bless her and may joy embrace her. 

I have a dubious friend that is planning to take a wife sooner than later.  He sounds sincere, maybe even a bit sappy.  I think he too should follow his heart.  May peace and love finally find him. 

Any time I think of the word “marriage,” I hear the voice of that funny priest from “Princess Bride.”  You know the one . . . he’s trying to marry Buttercup off to Prince Humperdinck before Westley can rescue her.  Yes, that’s the representation of marriage for me . . . something I should need to be saved from!  This is how I have felt for most of my adult life. 

Hell, I’m not talking out my ass on this.  I’ve twice uttered the words “I do.”  The rest is history.  On a good day, my marriages make good fodder for jokes.  On a bad day, they are simply tragedies in my past.  Both times I had the distinct sense of being trapped, of living in a cage.  Its little wonder I have done much since to undermine any possibility of a lasting relationship with anyone even my auto mechanic. 

So it is with irony that I pack my bag to head out to stand up for my dear sister.  The irony is not that I would aid and abet another in doing a thing I would not do . . . it is the second bag I’m packing.  In it go my doubts and misgivings, if just for the weekend, so I may be happy and supportive of this joyful time in another’s life.  Does that make me a fraud?  I hope not.  It is only my intent to be the best friend I can and not judge another’s choices in life.  Just as I would have others not judge me.  Whether it be deluding myself or not, I choose to see it as irony.

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