The envelope was smooth and creamy, it felt expensive.
Rich and luxurious paper, announcing right away, even before the careful calligraphy announced wedding with all its curlicues and fanciful penmanship.
It is a joy to be invited to this celebration of love, what with an open bar and dancing, especially when most of my friends are getting divorced.
These days, the brides and grooms are my friend’s children, and there really is something wonderful about the next generation tying the knot.
But it does mean I’m probably being relocated – it’s time – to the back tables, away from the dance floor, and bar, far from the head table, but closer to the bathrooms, and probably nearer to toothless Uncle Roy.
That doesn’t bother me, but something about this envelope did. And the insides too.
I didn’t exist. In fact, other than the bride – no women existed, and I’ll bet a rat’s ass if any man had any part in choosing the stock, font, stamp, whisper of tissue protecting the coveted RSVP card and silver gilded accents. They probably had little to nothing to do with the date, venue, menu, cake, or music either, so why was there no woman mentioned on the invite?
The envelope was addressed to:
Mr. & Mrs. Husband’s Name
Mr. & Mrs. Dad’s Name
request the honor of our presence to the marriage of the
BRIDE’S NAME to
son of Mr. & Mrs. Dad’s Name.
Did they all use surrogate mothers? Why don’t we exist?
No moms. No women at all, except for the bride. No one should outshine the bride, but um, hello? It’s 2016.
When I got married over 25 years ago, I didn’t change my name.
That didn’t go over well with my own mother, but still, I kept my name despite the eye-rolls and disgust, and accusations of illegitimate children.
I wrote all about it on Purple Clover, the hip, on-line magazine noted as the “cool destination for people over 50.” Check it out, and let me know what you think. Click on this image, it should take you there. If not, try clicking this.
Did you change your name? Do you want your girls to? Is this a problem in gay marriages?