It' s not like I was trashing my own wedding, you understand. I just, well, thought we oughta have a little fun.
Like, take this dress. Black on black. Mom? Hates it. Dad? Ugh. His eyes haven' t left the stained glass since we got here. Funny how a man can look pretty damned hard in one minute, look off at nothing in the next… Oh, and the church? Well, I wanted Trotsky' s. But like I wasn' t paying, see? And so, a little give ' n' take. Capish?
But enough about my dress. Like my hair? Truth is, it' s been purple for a while now. I just threw in a little yellow streak for my big (barf!) day. The studs and rings? Nothing new, really. Least not what you can see. My guy' s got a surprise coming tonight, but these purple lips are zipped for el presento.
Hey, but check out this one in my tongue. It' s what' s called, ha-ha, a boom for the groom. Cool, what? Problem is, “I do” comes out like “I thew” – which is fuckin' hilarious when you think about it.
Now there go my bride' s (barf!) maids, little black and purple duckies all in a row. The yellow sequins for aureoles? My idea. The spiked collars all tied together with dog chains? Well, shit – they' re my duckies!
Fuckin' Bad Religion was such a good choice for the Bridal March, doncha think? I can see that the old folks are just not gettin' it. Probably too weird is what they' re thinkin' – if they could think. Whatever. My maids are okay with it, and the theme is so apropos, no?
Oops! My turn – gotta march. Fuckin' stiletto heels maybe weren' t such a great idea. I liked the concept. It' s just that, well, what the fuck? It' s only an aisle. Up and back. I don' t, like, gotta dance in ' em.
Oh, and there' s the husband-to-be – looking perhaps a tad too cool. Pupils a little too dilated. But hey, I' m okay with that. Everybody' s a little tense, a little jittery. ' Cept the old folks all looking stone-cold sober. What is it with them, anyway? Like, just chill a little, ' K?
Why Do We Exist?
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Literary Fiction, Noir, Pulp Fiction, Short Stories