Really, I should just be quiet—but I can’t; I’m too angry.
A little background: I live with my eighty-year-old father and help him with the day-to-day business of living. He’s not an invalid by any means, but he needs a little help and can’t get by alone. This job fell to me because all of my siblings have families of their own; I am the Good Gay Son.
With that out of the way, here’s my beef:
I’ve always felt that the hallmarks of a second wedding should be taste and sophistication. First time around you get to make a big production out of it: process down the aisle and be given away and play Mendelssohn and have a neatly tapered line of bridesmaids in hideous dresses and a throw a huge reception, etc. Second weddings, I feel, should be for a handful of family and close friends, with the bride in a tailored dress and a hat in a garden somewhere.
So when my sister told me that, for her second wedding next month, she’d bought an expensive gown and was going to have Dad give her away (again?) and the men were going to be in tuxes and she was going to have a bevy of bridesmaids and a big reception afterwards . . . well, I raised my eyebrows, I can tell you. But although I found the whole thing just a little much, I figured what the hell, it’s her wedding.
And I thought no more about it until yesterday when Dad got an invitation in the mail.
To my sister’s BRIDAL SHOWER.
Hosted by her adult daughter.
And get this: included was a little card listing the stores where one can find my sister’s “shower registry.”
When Dad showed me this, I hit the ceiling. A bridal shower is for a young woman who is just setting out in life and probably needs a few items to get her household started. My sister was married for twenty-four years, lives in a beautifully-furnished house twice the size of my father’s, and already has every household item known to mankind. SHE DOES NOT NEED A F*CKING THING MORE. To use this wedding as an excuse to shake down people for presents—among them her aged father who just barely scrapes by on a pension—is inexcusably thoughtless, self-centered, and just plain vulgar.
Dad is always there for my sister. She has lunch with him once a week, and then it’s to occupy his time with a litany of her complaints and problems. Yet she expects him to jump every time she turns around with her hand out.
I told Dad how I deplorable found this. I am afraid I raised my voice before I was through. I told him that I hoped he would not attend this travesty. “I have to go,” he said meekly. “She’s your sister.” Then he added, wistfully, that he wasn’t sure how he was going to afford a shower present AND a wedding present, not to mention tux rental and the weekend at the resort that my sister wants everyone in the wedding party to go on after the ceremony. Dutch treat, of course.
Well, the way that I feel right now, I don’t even want to be at the wedding. I can’t remember anything in years that has infuriated me more.
This is just a rant. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I don’t expect to feel good about this wedding—or my sister—anytime soon. I thought better of her, that’s all. Fooled me.
Thanks for listening.