It just occurred to me that probably no one is going to object at my wedding this week.
I bet not one single person is going to emerge from the shadows wearing a jet black fedora, holding a staff, and shouting, "I cannot allow this to continue."
Probably no man who we previously thought was dead is even going to pop up, very much alive, at the last possible second to sabotage our merry pronouncements.
I'm almost positive no former lovers will have escaped from a rat-infested prison cell on the outskirts of a desert town in a part of the country where they still call flip flops "thongs" just in time to drop from a tree, a rattling chain strapped to his ankle, wailing from the heartache of unrequited love.
I'm not even counting on one gang riot to break out mere feet from the ceremony. Not even a small one, upset about the power consolidation of our pending union.
No dance offs.
No knife fights.
Not one group of kids and their dog pulling a mask off of wedding planner to reveal a villainous identity and pernicious plot involving bank heists and government corruption that goes all the way to the top.
Not even the slightest inkling of simple scandal.
Like an officious intermeddler barging in seconds before the official pronouncement to confess that while the groom was in a coma the objector fell in love with the bride who had spent several weeks lying to her betrothed's family about the existence of a relationship with their son who was nothing more than a stranger.
I don't think I'll get something even as simple as that.
Just a wedding.
A boring, stupid wedding.
With flowers and cake and not a whispered rumor of a pregnant bridesmaid and a groom's infidelity.
When they told us the homos could get married I had something a little more dramatic in mind.
I mean, really.
~It Just Gets Stranger