Why I'm Not Looking Forward To Going To My First Wedding

As I write this now, at the tender age of 24, I have yet to attend a wedding. I guess you could call me lucky. See, by 24, most people have already attended one, if not more, weddings. But, in my case, not only have I successfully avoided going to all family-related weddings over the course of my life, but also those of my friends.

For instance, just the other month, a cousin of mine got married in Texas. I couldn’t attend, of course, because of a “work crisis” (that’s what I told ’em, anyway). Now if a wedding’s in-state, I’d go. That goes without saying. Anywhere on the eastern seaboard, I’d probably find a way. But Texas? I figured my cousin would understand. We’re family. In all fairness, Texas is a bit of a schlep for a weekend of torture.

Although I might have skated past that one, I’m not sure how much longer my luck will last. Here are a few reasons I’m grateful I’ve never been to wedding.

The minute you start attending weddings, you’re on the clock.

The closer you get to 25, the more inevitable attending a wedding becomes. That’s why at my age, watcing my peers get hitched is a pretty unsettling feeling. While I’ve learned of a few acquaintances’ engagements via Facebook, all of my closest friends are still bachelors—thankfully (although in due time, I’m sure I’ll get a kick out of watching them try to get creative with a wedding hashtag). But once you get that first wedding invite, shit, the floodgates open—it’s like you and the rest of your friends are now on the clock.

Maybe we should hold off on the big ceremonies until the 10-year anniversary.

And 24 is a weird age. Numerically, you’re getting up there. I mean, in a year, you’ll be an age that rounds up to 30 (cringe). But from a mental standpoint, you don’t feel much different than you did at 23 or 22, or even 21.

Twenty-five is another one of these ages that serves as a mini milestone of growing older. Because, at 25, strangers in casual conversation almost inevitably ask you if you’re married. It’s as if on that 25th birthday, you spontaneously become equipped with the tools necessary for marriage. I’m not sure about the rest of you 24-year-olds, but I can’t really anticipate much changing between now and my next birthday that will suddenly make me ready to start a family—I literally can’t even explain to you what a pension is.

Weddings are costly, financially and emotionally. 

Frankly, I’m not even mature enough to handle OTHER people’s weddings, let alone my own. I can’t afford attending weddings every two months—financially or emotionally. From what I’ve heard, weddings aren’t like bar mitzvahs, where you can drop your boy $36 in an envelope and enjoy the party, doing the Cha-Cha Slide and munching on finely catered penne alla vodka.

Weddings are a giant expense on top of a headache. You gotta pay for a suit—that’s a couple hundred dollars.  Then there’s the bachelor party. You have to pay for transportation to and from all the different ceremonies—another couple hundred bucks. Then the hotel—and we haven’t even broached the subject of a fucking gift yet. Can you imagine the trauma I’m going to face when it comes time to pick out a wedding present for one of my boys? I have no idea what to get them. Like, what, am I gonna buy Foley a set of fine china or some sophisticated offering, despite the fact that our friendship ypically revolves around Old Milwaukees and FIFA?

Summer weddings are hot as balls.

Wedding season is conveniently alligned with the dog days of summer. While I’m sure the nice August weather creates the perfect setting for wedding pictures, it also creates the perfect setting for sweat in unpleasant places. Nothing better than crowding together with five of your friends—who are also schvitzing in their jet-black tuxedos—for a nice, sweaty, smiley photoshoot. 

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The whole rehearsal dinner thing is tripping me up, honestly.  

A couple months back, an older buddy of mine shared his wedding experiences and—I swear to God—I didn’t sleep for a few nights after he told me, just thinking about the horrors he had to endure. On top of having to spend hundreds of dollars on gifts, tuxedos, and everything else, he had to sit through rehearsals….and then a rehearsal dinner….and then, the following day, hours outside taking pictures with the rest of the fucking groomsmen pretending to look happy (all before the ceremony even began).

Wait a second: rehearsal….DINNERS? What, specifically, could you be rehearsing at a “rehearsal dinner?” I don’t get it. When I hear the phrase “rehearsal dinner,” I’m thinking of a group of people rehearsing dinner. Am I wrong? I’m seeing a big table—you know, a dais of sorts—with all the party guests sitting down, while the waiters bring out each course and run you through a trial dinner. A “rehearsal dinner,” to make sure—I don’t know—that everyone knows what they’re eating and there isn’t any traffic among waiters??? That’s the mental imagery I get upon hearing “rehearsal dinner.” Seems kind of superfluous, but who knows—maybe it’ll do me some good on the off chance I forget how to use a fork before then.

Marriages have a very low success rate in the US.

With all due respect, I think it’s kind of comical how much planning goes into weddings, especially considering the fact that they’re only successful about 50% of the time. Yeah, you read that right. When I Googled the divorce rate in America, I expected a high number: maybe 30, 35%. But 50 fucking percent??? That means nearly HALF of the weddings that take place in this country become a moot point sometime down the road. It’s a fucking coin toss. If I’m a betting man, I’m not liking those odds.

I hate to sound like a Negative Nelly, but maybe we should hold off on the big ceremonies until the 10-year anniversary. That I could get behind. Get a couple years under your belt, then devote an entire weekend and the majority of a paycheck to your wedding. If marriages were firing off at an 80% success rate, you wouldn’t hear a peep out of me. But if I plan on having my own wedding someday, I’m going to be a little more responsible with my money.

It sucks being the token single dude.

It all seems like a bit much, that’s all. It’s one thing if it’s one of your relatives—say, a sibling or a parent. When my sister gets married, sure, I’ll take all the pictures she wants—and smile in them. And it’ll be genuine, too. Immediate family is a different ballgame. But with my (abysmal) dating history tucked away in my back pocket, the idea of watching all my fraternity brothers slowly get their lives together isn’t very comforting.

I’d imagine if I had some type of long-term girlfriend, I wouldn’t mind attending these types of functions with her, knowing that sometime soon our day will come. But when you have to show up to weddings as the token single guy and repeatedly explain to the bride’s extended family why you’re still single, it’s not the most empowering feeling.

But, knowing me, I’ll probably be the dude caught Tindering in front of a couple empty champagne flutes on the wedding video. I reckon it won’t take much explaining for them to figure out why I’m still single.

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Why I"m Not Looking Forward To Going To My First Wedding