Ta ta dada, ta ta dada

People. Don't be sad and all that but what with Bastille day being a Thursday, this is now a long week-end. Yay! I hear you twitter with delight at the prospect of one looooong alcohol-induced stupor.
Yay indeed, as I'm off to a wedding for the long week-end.
A wedding. Wedding. Wed. Effing ding.

Just to make things clear, I don't like weddings. I just don't. Don't like the rigidity of them (I might be making up words here, I'm not sure), don't like the etiquette of them, don't like the sartorial efforts they require because I always feel inadequately dressed, don't like the fact that single men (just what is wrong with them that they're single still?) will try and persuade you that they're exactly what you've been waiting for, don't like the fact that single girls (yes, same - and I know what's wrong with me, thank you very much) are absolutely frenzied with the promise - as everybody has been hammering on - that weddings are just the place to meet someone.
Also, I hate the fact that, when they are family weddings, aunts and cousins and uncles will be coming to you and conspiratorially whisper: so, when are you walking down the aisle then? When the man I love finally gets out of jail, that's when, but that's probably not happening any time soon, as he's in there for armed robbery, isn't he, and well, the security guard got shot, and then after 2 years he was up for parole, but there was this knife scuffle at the ref, so he was in solitary for two weeks and that was pretty much the end of the parole talks, right?
But I fear it might be frowned upon to cause a coronary in a relative, even more so at a wedding.

Anyway, that wedding concerns none of my family, so what exactly was the point of that little show of aggressiveness? None, but man, I feel better now.