1
I hate weddings.
I hate them like a vegan hates a steak. I’m not vegan myself – show me a salad and I’ll run like there’s a pitbull at my heels – but the comparison is apt.
I hate weddings.
I’m only here because my best friend is getting married and, well, I couldn’t miss this opportunity to wind him up a bit!
I’m dressed in black. Black trousers, black jacket, black tie, black sunglasses. I look like an undertaker, which is exactly what I was going for. I’m here to offer condolences, not congratulations.
I sit in my church pew, pretending not to notice the dirty looks I’m getting from the other guests. I look so sinister that one of them makes devil horns behind my back. He thinks I’m not looking, but I see everything. Behind my dark glasses, I’m taking in every detail of this stupid farce.
What drives a man to choose monogamy? I couldn’t tell you. The very idea seems ridiculous to me. Let one woman torment me for the rest of my life? What’s in it for me?
I know I’m right. Besides, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong with my life. I am the perfect example of a happy man and I am proud of it – very proud of it. A sudden nudge tears me away from my idle musings. Did I fall asleep?
‘Teo, try and behave yourself, just for one day!’ Matteo, the groom’s cousin, tells me.
I yawn in his face without bothering to cover my mouth. ‘This ceremony is torture! I think I might hide in the confessional and take a nap.’
‘I’d say you started napping a while ago,’ he says. Prissy people – another thing I hate.
The sound of applause startles me. Finally, we’ve reached the money shot.
‘What God has joined together, let no man put asunder,’ the priest drones in a stentorian voice.
But if a woman puts asunder what God has joined, apparently that’s fine.
My sarcastic observation inevitably leads me into gloomier thoughts: I can’t bear to have lost my crazy, hard-drinking wingman. Now who am I going to pick up bimbos on a Saturday night with? It won’t be the same without him.
The ceremonial torment finally comes to an end. Now the rice is waiting for us.
‘Grab a handful!’ cries a fat woman, probably a relative of the bride, with embarrassing red hair. In her hands she has a basket full of paper cones resting on a bed of rice confetti.
‘Can I take some sugared almonds too?’ I ask huskily, turning on the charm.
The big woman smiles and winks at me. I shudder, but I don’t change my expression.
‘Help yourself, sweetheart. Just be careful where you throw it.’
‘Oh, I’ll be careful,’ I think, seized by a sudden and uncontrollable urge to play target practice with the heads of the bride and groom. Who knows, perhaps a knock on the head will bring him to his senses.
As soon as the idea has taken shape in my mind, prepare myself for the launch as if I were a baseball player. The deadly, sugar-coated bullet makes an impressive flight, so impressive that it misses the newlyweds completely and continues on its trajectory, disappearing over their heads.
A distinct ‘Ouch!’ is heard in the distance, and I duck behind a cloud of hair belonging to someone who seems to have been trying to create a haven for pigeons on their head.
‘What reckless idiot throws confetti like that?’ I hear someone exclaim. Chuckling, I stay hidden behind the human hedge. No-one will find me here.
‘Teo!’ A familiar voice seeks me out everywhere, and suddenly my friend Silvio, the condemned, advances towards me wearing a belligerent expression. I look around for an escape route, but I am stuck in the human tide of guests.
‘I warned you, Teo. No bullshit on my wedding day!’
I come out with my hands up and what I hope is a suitably disarming smile. ‘Come on, Silvio! I didn’t do it on purpose!’
He glares at me. ‘I should have known! First you snore like a trombone during the ceremony …’
‘Me?’
‘Yes you! The vibrations almost brought the walls down around our ears. You were worse than the organ! Then you try and kill everyone with confetti, and on top of everything, you’re dressed as though you were at a funeral!’
I take off my sunglasses and give him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Relax. I told you I didn’t do it on purpose. As for my clothing… I can’t think of anything more suitable. I’m mourning the loss of a friend.’
‘I really don’t know what goes on in that head of yours. Today is a day of celebration! ‘
‘For you, perhaps,’ I say with a shrug. I don’t particularly want to be having this conversation.
Silvio doesn’t press the issue, mainly because he is claimed by the other guests, who are all desperate to cover him with kisses and to paw at the bride as though she were a holy relic, capable of bestowing miracles. I can see all the spinsters, already eyeing the bouquet. How pathetic!
A finger taps my shoulder. I turn around, but see no-one in front of me. What the…? Then I realise I have to look down. A long way down. Below my field of vision stands the woman who just poked me – quite hard, I thought – in the shoulder blades.
She brandishes a candied almond like a weapon of war.
‘You could have blinded me with this thing!’ she exclaims angrily.
I look her over. Blonde, but that’s the only thing in her favour: for the rest, besides being short, she’s on the chubby side, with a fairly unremarkable face. Anyway, she’s wearing glasses and… hang on, what’s that?
I notice that the right lens is cracked, giving her a slightly nerdy appearance.
‘Do you always walk around in such shabby glasses?’ I observe with disgust. If there is one thing I can’t stand in a girl it’s sloppiness. I just don’t like badly groomed women. Not that she’s my type. She doesn’t even come close to my type.
‘Are you a comedian, too? It was you that broke my glasses!’
I try to keep a serious expression, but I’m finding it hard not to laugh in her face.
‘Perhaps you think I’m a magician? How could I have broken your glasses without even touching them?’
‘With a this candied bloody almond, that’s how!’
The girl has become quite red, which makes her appearance even more unpleasant. I give her my best roguish grin. A few crumbs, even for her. I’m feeling generous today.
‘I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.’
‘Oh no, I’m not!’
‘Well, I say you are!’ I blurt out. This conversation is getting boring. I don’t talk to plain women. In fact, I don’t talk to women at all. I just let them talk, or rather, I let them tell their life story while I zone out. I am a natural talent at this.
‘Hey, you,’ continues the tiny woman, pushing me round to face her.
I roll my eyes. What have I done to deserve this punishment? I can’t possibly have done anything that bad.
A peal of thunder in the distance seems to suggest otherwise. Even the sky is against me today…
‘What do you want?’
I do not hide my condescending tone. I have already wasted too much time with this… this …angry hobbit.
‘A civilized person would apologize and offer to repair the damage.’