Friesner. It has been said that God makes marriages, but the Devil plans weddings. I know this has been said, because I said it. I coined the aforementioned b on mot upon the occasion of my elder sister's third wedding of a careerbest total of six. The nuptial rut that dear Katherine wore into the aisle of St. George's Anglican is one reason for my own continued bachelorhood. If one cannot learn from the mistakes of others, one might as well become a Democrat. One would presume that when a woman has gone through the same ceremony so many times (not counting an illconsidered elopement with one of the pool boys during her fourth honeymoon on Maui), the mechanics of a wedding, if not the subsequent marriage, would go more smoothly as experience was garnered along the way. Ah, but when has logic ever refused to defer to human stupidity? Our dear Katherine somehow managed to turn each wedding into an even greater display of obsessive perfectionism, spectacular tantrums, and alienated bridesmaids.
What do You think about My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding?
