I’m putting you people on notice: quit inviting me to weddings that you don’t want me to make fun of. Seriously. I’m not even a big fan of weddings, but I’ve been invited to over a half dozen this year. Two of which I have to participate in. All of my siblings have decided to take the plunge this year – that’s four right there. A couple of cousins. A dear friend. However, I have to give you the tale of two weddings for the price of one blog.

In other words, turnabout is fairplay.*

I’m not going to mention whose wedding this was since I’m all about keeping family drama to a minimum. My family (in matching wardrobe, I’ll have you know, coordinated to the wedding colors) arrived at the church 20 minutes early (I’m married to a white woman, so we were running on her time. Despite knowing on what kind of time most black weddings run, she likes to arrive at weddings early. I tried to tell her “on time IS early.”) Sure enough, an hour after we arrive, the wedding gets started. The brotha on the piano had been wearing out his hymnal stalling for time.

Before I continue, I wanted to take a moment to make that observation that it is a proven fact that Luther is the patron saint of weddings. Luther Vandross, that is (big Luther, not little Luther). But I’m as sick of hearing “Here and Now” at black folks weddings as I am of hearing “Celebration” at white people’s receptions.

There was an interpretive dance number that I can’t make fun of: she was five years old if a day and was absolutely adorable. However, I’ve never understood how a bride can be so neurotic about wanting her wedding to be perfect then think that having a child serving as the ring bearer would be anything short of an adventure. The ring-bearer tradition was tweaked, thus the groom’s little girl came down the aisle ringing a bell. Now, she was supposed to be saying “here comes the bride;” instead, she kept stopping to ask “Where’s my daddy?” (if she has asked “who’s my daddy?” they’d have had to call the wedding off for the day cause we’d have been too through).

Now, are we family? Can I tell you something? What have I told you about giving black folks microphones? I knew from the moment this brother-sister team strode to the microphone that we might as well get comfortable because we were gonna be there for a minute. Cruising down memory lane to our high school jam, “Always” became their American Idol audition. You know I hate talking about our people, and I would have been through, but then came the bridesmaids. In fact, your Honor, my case for this being a ghetto wedding comes down to three bits of evidence:

Exhibit A: This is a Coogi sweater.
The bride and bridesmaids wore Coogi dresses with sandals whose spaghetti straps wound up to their knees. The groomsmen had Coogi sweaters with dress pants, but the groom had a Coogi sweater, matching Coogi pants, with a tux jacket (with tails).

Exhibit B: The bridal party came down the aisle to “I Need Love” by L.L. Cool J, grooving like they were at the club.

Exhibit C: The wedding was held in a gym: half used for the ceremony, half for the reception. After the new couple was presented, the bridal party came together, marched from the ceremony, past the guests, to the head of the food line. For that matter, how are you gonna have a pitch-in reception? “Dear loved one, come share our special day with us. Bring gifts and your own food.” The groom had the nerve (or sense, because me and my sister were in the food line at the time) to come up to announce that each person was to use their discretion, take only one plate, and not pile it up.

Sadly, I’m sure this won’t be the most ghetto wedding I’ll be attending this year. However, the whole wedding reception breaking down the begging part of the Lenny Williams classic “Cause I Love You”: priceless.

*for those of you worried about how that marriage was going, not too long ago my buddy called me up to tell me that the groom had been tossed in jail over the weekend. That wasn’t the best part: apparently he met his bride’s biological father for the first time … as his cell mate.

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