July 30, 2008

I spent over $5k to get out of my first marriage

Is it ever acceptable to tell your best friend that her fiance is an uninspired, unmotivated douchebag and that marrying him will inevitably lead to huge attorney fees and possibly restraining orders?

Put more simply — What do you wear to a wedding that has “2 years max” written all over it? Sequins?

posted by in advice, economics, fashion, relationships | * | 13 comments 

comments

  1. Garrett on July 30th, 2008 at 1:00 pm

    Black

  2. Deron Bauman on July 30th, 2008 at 1:02 pm

    nude.

  3. Sheila Ryan on July 30th, 2008 at 1:09 pm

    A secondhand wedding gown purchased via Craigslist from a sadder-but-wiser bride.

  4. Kathy Hilen-Smith on July 30th, 2008 at 1:27 pm

    A colorful hat and a bell on your purse.

  5. Deron Bauman on July 30th, 2008 at 1:32 pm

    a bear whistle.

  6. Mike D. on July 30th, 2008 at 2:34 pm

    The bestest so-happy-for-you faux smile you can muster.

    A dry chicken breast and shitty rice pilaf is your karmic retribution.

  7. TJ McFisty on July 30th, 2008 at 3:26 pm

    A sign that reads “He likes to smell his own farts.”

  8. TJ McFisty on July 30th, 2008 at 3:28 pm

    Oh, I forgot. And chiffon. Baby doll chiffon dress. Nothing too showy. Down there.

  9. Michael Grant Smith on July 30th, 2008 at 4:52 pm

    Something conservative that looks good when you appear in court to testify on your friend’s behalf. Think: justifiable homicide.

  10. Rick Neece on July 30th, 2008 at 6:30 pm

    Sack-cloth and ashes.

  11. Mike D. on July 30th, 2008 at 7:03 pm

    Old Spice. Hide behind the father of the bride.

  12. Mike D. on July 30th, 2008 at 7:37 pm

    I guess we’ve all been there; I watched a dear friend marry a man who, in his white tuxedo, resembled nothing more than a bread truck. He had the personality to match; a hell of a lot of fumes for such a low-power engine.

    But. I attended this one holding the hand of my then-wife, who had told me the night before that our own marriage was to be but a 3 year affair.

    At the reception, the bride and groom danced to “our song”, a saccharin Ben Folds ballad about the sort of love that lasts beyond the grave. I fled outside for yet another breath of fresh air. When I returned, there was a questionnaire on each seat soliciting advice for the impossibly-paired couple. My plastic heart pen hovered, shaking above the page, as I composed a scathing missive dripping with the bile of heartbroken young love. I folded the paper in half, and pushed it into the pile forming next to the silk-and-votives centerpiece. Blank.

    My eyes met those of my soon-to-be-ex wife for a silent moment, and we headed for the car.

  13. Sheila Ryan on July 30th, 2008 at 8:23 pm

    A questionnaire. A questionnaire.

    I hope the reception did not feature a cash bar.

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