What happens at transvestite weddings? Who wears what – do people try to upstage the bride and turn up in purple satin wedding dresses? At least in a goth wedding, all the wedding dresses would be black or white. Top tip – don’t innocently look up “transvestite wedding photos” if you work in an open plan office and don’t want lots of chicks with dicks running around your screen. Depending on what you do in your open plan office of course. Perhaps you work in a transvestite wedding agency or something.
But I digress.
(Normally at tangents. But sometimes straight backwards in the opposite direction. Or sometimes I don’t digress in any direction at all. Sometimes I digress in an outward spiral, and its only when I hit the walls that I start to regress / ingress / eagress. And sometimes it could be a strictly curving arc of digression which comes full back on itself, and at that point, progress can be once again made)
Some friends had a wedding last week, which was nice. No-one upstaged the beautiful buxom bride – the only attendee who was in the transgendered ball-park kept himself to a demur three piece suit, and no-one said anything. Weddings are a bit strange. Personally, I think being divorced suits better than being married (not for everyone of course). The main feature about being divorced is being able to travel to bars in the US, sit on bar stools and strike up slurred and embittered conversations about ex-wives with total strangers. To be fair, I don’t think it’s just the US that this happens in – last time it happened to me was in Moscow. Moscow, Russia. Actually, thinking about it, no-one would call a city in the US Moscow, would they? Or Baghdad. Or Washington Junior III. Except maybe the last one.
“Why do people hate America?” Not just a topic of conversation I used to break the standard social rules about not mentioning ‘politics, religion’ or the other one that I always forget and thus can’t deliberately mention. It’s a book I’m reading too. And an essay. And probably a t-shirt, and a popular global theme. However, I managed to single out the US citizen in the wedding party, and generally gibber on about religion and politics for a while. She was very understanding. But darn it, what is the third thing you’re not supposed to talk about?
Anyway, Being the sort of person who has to be last person to beds at a party, the reception ended with just three of us. Having invented new dimensions to which charades can be taken too. I should have chosen “Why do people hate america?” but I had exceeded the vodka and ginger limit for useful participation in team games. More of my energy was directed at asking indiscretely about the unspoken story of the groom and the twins in the jacuzzi. He didn’t marry any twins. Although it’s probably possible in some places. Even if they are in a jacuzzi at the time.