One of my favorite movies, Groundhog Day, follows Bill Murray as he relives the same day over and over again. As I prepare to leave my twenties in the dust this summer, I find myself in a similar situation that I like to call Groundhog Weekend: all of my friends are getting married and they refuse to stop. Yes, there are some Saturdays and Sundays without nuptials, but they often include bachelor parties or me locking myself in my apartment using my taxed out, maxed out credit card as a coaster.
Here is a typical day in the life of Charlie Nadler, Professional Wedding Invitee. I wake up and field texts, emails, and facebook messages asking for my current address. Next I arrive at work and put in at least seven new requests for time off. Then I come home and empty the save-the-date receptacle outside my apartment building, promptly checking corresponding airfares and perusing online gift registries. Almost all of these registries list trash cans as a requested item. What is it with unmarried people not owning good trash cans?
I know we are at “that age,” but this is a deluge. It’s like when someone stops the pressure in a hose and finally lets loose. I feel like Cupid watched over all my high school and college friends and went “Bad dates…imperfect relationships…unhappy endings….Okay let’s finally do this, EVERYBODY GETS THE ONE!” That’s the only possible explanation for the current state of my calendar.
The rewarding part about being a Professional Wedding Invitee has been the inevitable ascension into a Professional Wedding Attendee, borrowing skills from a variety of professions: knowing what to pack like a seasoned flight attendant, pacing my hydration like a marathon runner, and most importantly, plotting how to intercept each and every tray of hors d’oeuvres like a Navy Seal.
The best aspect of these events — besides forever love of course — are the reunions of friends from many different chapters of my life. We don’t get to see each other regularly anymore and our lives have changed immensely. The laughs, though, have not aged a minute. In between the revelry we lament our busy schedules and hope that once everyone makes it down the aisle — and our Google calendars stop looking like they’ve been hacked by spambots — we will be able to reunite more often.
I don’t want to sound like I am complaining. It’s just strange being behind the curve. As more and more of my friends exchange vows, I feel increasingly like the youngest kid in high school who is last to get his learner’s permit. A lot of good is coming out of this cake-laden chapter, though. We are all happy and having fun, especially my dry cleaner, who will soon be able to put a downpayment on a Ferrari.
