“What do you wear to a wedding you weren’t invited to?”
This is an actual question I asked myself this morning.
It was mostly a joke. My husband even chastised me for the pessimism. Even with his overly-analytical pragmatism, he was trying to make the best of what I could only see as an unnecessarily shitty situation. Turns out, I was right in my assessment of the whole ordeal. But first, let’s rewind a bit.
I’ve been telling my co-workers for the past week that I’m going to a wedding that I wasn’t invited to and don’t want to attend. Anyone who has planned or been really involved in the execution of a wedding knows that there are too many pieces to put in place for everyone to come out happy. The biggest point of contention is the invite list. Who gets to be there for the most important day of your life? (Side note: my current mood = a few immediately deleted witticism about divorce statistics.) At any rate, one of the most joyous public celebrations a person can have is wrought with the ugliness of outdated etiquette, decades-long family feuds and pettiness on every imaginable level.
My husband and I managed to avoid this by sticking to our personal brand of giving zero fucks. Our destination wedding had a guest list of exactly the people we wanted there with no guilt trips attached. We had the added bonus of paying for the actual ceremony ourselves and backed it up with our own patented stubborness. The one time my mother started to pull some BS about the invitees, my beloved replied with “well, we could just elope and no one would be there” and it totally confirmed that he was the one for me.
So, basically, I don’t care if I’m not invited to your wedding. Odds are: you weren’t invited to mine. You do you, boo. And have tons of fun. I’m antisocial by nature, but if the time comes, we’ll find a way to celebrate together less formally and it will be more meaningful than most weddings I’ve attended. Unfortunately, you are not always in control of the circumstances surrounding an invitation.
My husband’s cousin sent out invitations to her wedding and we did not receive one. Whatever, right? They’re not really close anyway. However – and I’m still not really sure why this is a problem-, his sister was. Blow the fucking airhorns, right? ‘Cause this injustice cannot stand. Or that’s how mother-in-law felt or whatever. (These wounds are still fresh, so bear with my cynicism. It’s a[n obvious] coping mechanism) (Side note: now my mood = asides within asides.)
The thing that’s really heartbreaking is that this is a family that recently lost its matriarch and it’s from the fallout of this that all this is really coming from. The passing of my husband’s grandmother has taken sibling rivalries to another level and, in this case, we happened to get caught in the middle. First, our food choice was taken by my mother-in-law. A few weeks later, we were given a photo copy of the invitation with a note that the bride-to-be was sorry for the mix up.
Clearly, we weren’t invited and some BS had taken place to get us on the list. I (angrily) brought it to my husband’s attention that he should have taken a stand on this weeks ago. I did not want to go. Not just because I wasn’t invited, but if I had been given a chance to RSVP, I would have said no. I work on commission, and taking the busiest day of the week off to attend a distant (to me) relative’s wedding doesn’t make much financial sense. He could have gone and sent both of our regards, but we weren’t given the opportunity. This makes what happened even more irksome for me.
So, we go. We attend the ceremony, spend a couple of hours killing time before the reception, and happily take our seats for dinner. By this time, I’m feeling pretty good. The reception was at a vineyard, so the drinks were flowing. And even my sarcastic, cynical self can’t help but enjoy a celebration of love. Everyone is happy. This is a swell night.
It’s funny because I brought this up while we were killing time after the ceremony. We were at a Dunkin Donuts and I said to my husband “you know the first line of ‘The Real Slim Shady’? I feel like the opposite of that in certain parts of New Hampshire.” He knew exactly what I meant, but for those unaware, the line I was referencing was “Y’all act like you’ve never seen a white person before.” I’m a Black female who stands 5’9″ (taller in heels, obviously) and I tend to stick out in some crowds. My husband is close to my height (not quite as tall, as I point out constantly) and he is taller than most of his family. I feel like a giant around them sometimes. We joke about it all the time.
So, dinner wraps up and the bride (his cousin) and groom make their way around all of the tables. The groom is super congenial and happily takes the congratulations and unwarranted advice and moves on. Then the bride comes up. I give her a hug and the usual “oh you look so beautiful” or some shit like that. She comes back to me with “it’s nice to meet you.” Ex-fucking-scuse me?
The last time I saw this chick was less than 4 months ago at her grandmother’s funeral. The first time we met was close to 10 years ago at the same grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. You’re telling me you forgot the giant Black woman that’s been hanging around your family’s gatherings for the past decade? Actually, I’ve been around the extended family more than she has in the past years as she’s been moving around the country with her now husband. I brushed it off because I was feeling nice, but it started getting to me once we got home.
I get it. She doesn’t really know me and she didn’t want me there in the first place. It’s just a petty dig (since there’s no fucking way she actually didn’t recognize me), but the thing she could never know is how difficult it has been for me to feel like a part of this family. We’ve been together for 10 years, married for 3, and I still feel like I’m barely there. I’m different than them. Not just in physical appearance (Black, tall, muscular), but I was also raised Muslim in a different kind of environment. Sure, Lowell and Boston are both cities, but Roxbury is a different kind of ‘hood, if you know what I mean.
I know for a fact that my mother-in-law wasn’t thrilled with our relationship for a long time. When she came around to it, it was such a relief that I probably forgave and forget more than I should have of what it was like at the very beginning. The experience tonight probably shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Again, it was petty bullshit. It all could’ve been avoided if we weren’t pawns in some family feud. I just really wish people who have never felt like an outsider in their whole lives had a bit more perspective in how they address others. I didn’t ask for any of this to happen and I wish I had just gone to work today instead.