Uncle Bobbys Snarky Guide to Surviving the Nutso Wedding Season
Dear Uncle Bobby, I’ve got three weddings to attend this month — one’s a destination event, one’s at a barn with no AC, and the last one has a cash bar and a DJ who still uses CDs. Is it just me, or has wedding season officially lost its mind?
Lauging all the way to the altar,
Guest of Too Many WeddingsOh, Guest, bless your RSVP-weary soul and blistered feet from dancing to “Shout” for the third weekend in a row.
You’re not imagining it — wedding season has become an overproduced fever dream of mason jars, poorly lit photo booths, and $300 gift registries that include “artisan ice cube molds.”
What used to be a sweet ceremony and a decent buffet has mutated into a month-long endurance trial of forced small talk and fondant.
Lets start with the destination wedding — because nothing says “celebrate our love” like demanding people take unpaid time off, buy formal beachwear, and sleep in a resort that charges $9 for bottled water.
You’ll spend more on airfare and khakis than they did on centerpieces, and still be expected to cry on cue during the vows.
Then there’s the barn wedding. Rustic charm, they said. Pinterest-perfect, they said. What they didn’t say? There’s no air conditioning, the seating is hay bales, and you’ll spend the night swatting mosquitos off your ankles while pretending to enjoy “locally sourced” carrot slaw served in a mason jar.
You don’t need a tux — you need a tetanus shot.
And the cash bar? Oh, honey. That’s not a wedding — that’s a hostage situation with cake.
If I have to sit through two people reading custom vows they “workshopped during their couples counseling retreat,” the very least I deserve is a free drink and an escape plan.
Uncle Bobby’s advice? Rotate one nice outfit and stop trying to pretend you’re happy for them. Give a gift card. Drink water at the bar just to confuse the couple. And when someone asks if you’re “next,” just laugh maniacally until they back away.
Because wedding season isn’t about love — it’s about surviving June with your dignity, your budget, and your liver still functioning.
You’re not a guest. You’re a veteran. And July can’t come fast enough.
— Uncle Bobby