I Will Flout Your Convention with Ice Cream Cake

Do you read this blog? Yes, you do. You're reading it now. Plus, I know you do because I have cameras in your home. Fancy spy cameras. You know who's funny? Sean Cullen. He makes my love-hate relationship with the CBC into more of a love-love-hate relationship. Actually, it's more of a love-love-make-fun-of-the-excessive-importance-it-places-on-organic-composting relationship. Speaking of which, I'm marrying Roxanne this weekend.

Roxanne will also be marrying me, simultaneously. We're just that coordinated. It's kind of like the birth of twins, except one doesn't come out before the other because the evil twin has latched onto the good twin, probably with grappling hooks, Fisher Price brand prenatal grappling hooks. Yes, that's it.

People keep asking me: "So, are you nervous/stressed out about the wedding." To which I reply, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" Usually this is followed by: "Yes, I'm in the bridal party" or "Yes, I gave birth to you." Yeah, sure, the DNA investigation was inconclusive. By the way, everyone at the wedding will be fingerprinted. We have solar-powered lawn gnomes that we don't want to go missing. Wait, that last sentence is only half true, the first half.

Actually, I'm not nervous or stressed. How hard can it be to pick up 114 Happy Meals and drive down to city hall? I give it 20 minutes, tops. The ceremony, not the marriage, that is. In a way the marriage has already lasted almost 3 years. I mean, this isn't really a big step for us. It's more of a legally binding/public declaration step. We've already agreed we'd spend our lives together, which, to my mind, is a moral contract, and that's more important than a legal contract. The latter is an extension of the former, not vice versa. So, the wedding really ends up being more of an excuse to get together all of your family and friends, except for Sarah Waters who is going to the Pemberton Festival. I know, everyone has priorities, but it's not our fault that Jay-Z refused to be our flower girl. He said: "I've got 99 problems, but the graceful and equidistant dispersion of flower petals ain't one."

For the people who do come, though, it will be fine. My theory is that if sufficient alcohol is provided, no one will remember the other details, like how Stephen Hawking beat me in a dance-off or how I accidentally peed on your chair. Actually, it will be more than fine. There will be many people whom I haven't seen in a long time. I might even talk to some of them. In fact, I think I promised Roxanne I would. This happened after she pointed out that although a slack-jawed blank stare is a hilarious response to any question or greeting, it's only hilarious to me, and not to the person who is trying to talk to me. In all seriousness, though, it will be an transcendentally enjoyable affair, even though Roxanne wouldn't let me get a cake with the Saudi Arabian flag on it.

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