With all the planning I'm doing for the wedding, I haven't given any thought to the "consummation" part. Any tips for a steamy wedding night? -- Adriana, Riverside, California.
Let me set my lapsang souchong down so I don't burn my fingers when I bang my fist on the table for emphasis: No one has sex on their wedding night.
Yes, I get it, you sprung for the La Perla wedding lingerie with the garter belt and stirrups that make your legs look all long. And you've been doing Pilates like a maniac for the last six months so when you look back at your wedding photos in thirty years, your daughter will say something nice about your core strength before zipping off on a hover skateboard with that boy you don't like.
And above all, you think you should have sex on your wedding night because everyone has sex on their wedding night. Except here's the thing: no one has sex on their wedding night. Maybe put that in your super-detailed spreadsheet between the hours of 1 AM and 2 AM: "Not having sex with Cody."
Instead, you should enter: "Passing the eff out in my wedding dress on top of the covers, while Cody pukes in the bathroom, then uses my $600 shoes, some wilted hydrangeas and a sweaty crumple of checks as a pillow."
(By the way, Cody seems like a great guy. Mazal tov to you both. Hydrangeas? Understated and seasonable. Nice work.)
Here's the bottom line: you've been standing for six hours, you haven't eaten anything but a mini-quiche in ten hours, and laugh-crying consumes three times the number of calories as laughing or crying alone. You're exhausted. He's so drunk he's singing "Wonderwall" into the porcelain bowl. Do you really want to consummate that? You have brunch in six hours -- and I don't want to kill the mood here, but this really will be the last time you're gonna see Aunt Fern alive. Forgive yourself and go to sleep.
One more thing: The boy that your future daughter is seeing? He reminds me a lot of Cody at that age.
And pack that garter belt on the honeymoon. That shit's hot.
My wedding's semi-formal, but I was thinking of rocking a tux. Is that weird? -- Dave, Lincoln, Nebraska.
Yes, that is weird, but not because you're going to look different than your guests. Do I need to remind you that your date that night is going as the bride? This is why your question is weird: it is not up to you what you wear to your wedding. It is up to her and her alone. You are a prop, groom. You are collateral damage. You do nothing but provide visual context for the future Mrs. You.
"I was thinking of rocking a tux?" More like "Meh meh meh meh fart meh."
Don't think. Obey.
Alright fine, you can pick out your socks. But if they have a little preppy animals on them or a goddamn sports logo, I will come after you.
I've been a bridesmaid three times. Will I ever be a bride? -- Lara, Duluth, Minnesota.
Doubtful. You've committed a potentially fatal error: demonstrating a strong capacity for female friendship. These brides must really appreciate your loyalty, organizational skills, grooming and good manners. But you know what they really appreciate? The fact that you sat on the sidelines while they were out getting the good ones, the ones you probably wanted, the ones with kinda okay abs and minimal bacne who work in industries unaffected by the recession.
You were too busy remembering birthdays to compete for those scarce and hard-won resources. Your consolation prize? Holding a small bouquet in a lime green dress trying hard not to faint while you smile through severe ankle and knee pain.
Do not walk. Run from this responsibility and into the arms of the five remaining remotely eligible bachelors in your time zone. (I'd say take a cab, but you already spent all your money on the Napa Valley girls weekend where you were volunteered to be designated driver).
You are not on this earth to make friends. You are here to win. And those bachelors? The pool's already down to four.