I went to a bridal party once. If there were any bridal parties after that that I was invited to, I probably avoided them. A woman right out of high school, whom I’d met at the Bun n’ Cone (don’t laugh, that’s the real name), invited me to come to the party at her house that evening after work, and to the wedding the following day.
I felt a little uncomfortable going to her wedding. I didn’t know anyone, including her, really, but I went to her house that night because of the look on her face when we were closing up. It was a look you can’t say no to. It is the look of a nice person with whom you might develop a friendship once you got passed all the things you don’t have in common.
I think it was my first wedding invitation, besides my aunt Eleanor’s wedding, which doesn’t count because it ended in divorce. I didn’t want to throw the confetti at my aunt. I kept it in my five-year old fist and waited until we got back to our van where I emptied the contents of my palm into the built-in ashtray in the armrest. It stayed there when we sold the van seven or eight years later, about the time the marriage disintegrated.
My co-worker’s groom was planning on going out with his buddies the night before the wedding, while she entertained her friends at home. When the groom sheepishly told his wife, in front of the living room full of women, that he was going out with his man friends, the bride was all, “Oh, no you’re not!” I was shocked at her alpha performance in front of her women friends. He looked like a fish out of water. He squirmed and gasped. He wanted to go but he responded like a beaten child and submitted. That was the first neutering I’ve ever been to.
Subscribe to the
RSS feed or 
Email Updates.Help us promote this article by bookmarking it to your favorite social network via an icon below:
What a hoot!
Tim Boyd bought that van from us. I wonder if it still had the confetti in the ashtray when he was done with it.
Memos on men’s feelings these days have to make it through the barrage of TV programs and, today, ads, that present all mean as either unthinking or unfeeling dolts who have to be guided to the light by Mommy Dearest.
My first wife was right there as a civilizing influence who found me great for replacing toilets and tuning up the cars, but otherwise not really useful.
Ami, It’s good you missed the neutering part of your upbringing. I figure the poor slob Amy mused about will bail out of that marriage before the van is traded. Once that gelding knife is out, many women seem unable to put it away. It’s unfortunate, almost as bad as some of the emotional brutalizing I’ve seen men lay on their wives.
The idea of a loving partnership seems foreign to a whole lot of people of both sexes which may help explain today’s marriage stats. I have to laugh when I hear local arguments against gay marriages, the whole schmear about the sanctity of marriage, usually spouted by someone who is on his or her third or fourth go-round or who spends several nights a week either getting drunk to avoid the spouse, or cheating on the spouse.
I feel so sorry for him! Your story is testimony of the unchecked emasculation of men that many of today’s young ladies feel entitled to inflict. I am constantly reminding my oldest daughter that even though men rarely show their feelings, they do have them and they are just as valuable as her own. I remind her that his feelings, masculinity and self esteem need to be respected in order to have a lifetime of wedded bliss. Apparently this young lady didn’t get that memo!
I love this, “when we sold the van seven or eight years later, about the time the marriage disintegrated.”
Thanks!
When you are a human, there is so much to learn!
I guess we know who will be wearing the pants in that marriage.
How sad for the groom … a marriage doomed before the vows are said.
Love your comment, Ami. I certainly don’t know how to do any neutering either — but then again, I’ve never had any real need for it, thankfully.
Poor dude!
You are hand down my favorite blogger.. love your stories and humor….
Poor guy! The least you can do is emasculate them in private. Public beat-downs are for serious offenses, like crashing the hard drive on the computer before backing up all of your music files…
About 20 years ago when we first moved here, my hubby was working with a bunch of guys who liked to visit topless bars. He’d call me after work on a Friday night and tell me he was going to ‘the titty bar’ and I’d say, “‘Kay, love you, see you whenyou get home, bye.”
Then the other guys would call their wives and significant others and tell the most amazing and breathtaking lies so they could go to the bar and get away with it.
And he’d come home and we’d laugh over the outlandish stories the guys told.
Evidently I missed the neutering instructions when we got married.