“Trip over love, you can get up. Fall in love and you fall forever.”

- Author Unknown

I feel as though I haven't brought you up to date on why it is that I have been having to do all these extracurricular activities over the past couple of months.

If you hadn't noticed, I went to dance classes, helped write a touching speech, bought a new suit and even got a hair cut, all for the sole purpose of this week's main event: Honey's sister's wedding. Oh, where to begin?

I could go into how, just as the vows were completing, a thunder clap erupted overhead as if “someone” didn't want to forever hold their peace, or even about how the reception hall burned to the ground.

As I said before I “could” go into the dirty details of the day, but I won't. So don't even try and get me started about how Honey's grandmother got a little too “frisky” after the fifth champagne toast and grabbed my rear.

And, obviously, I'm not going to make fun of the wedding, itself, because I don't really like sleeping on the couch and Honey reads this column before I send it to the paper.

To be perfectly honest, it was a lovely ceremony (despite the celestial interruption) and I'll admit the bride looked enchantingly beautiful.

The groom? He looked nice, too but, come on, all a guy really has to do in a wedding is rent a tux and show up. Even the tux is an option. As long as we show up, we're good.

So, instead I'll just comment on my take of weddings in general.

Probably my biggest pet peeve are the vows. “In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer?” Man, how many angles do you need to cover just to prove that you're serious about getting married? Why don't they add in “for hungry or full?”

How about “for paper or plastic?”

And when did we start having this great debate over whether or not you should throw rice? In my book, chucking bags of rice was all part of the fun.

I know of couples that have gone the soap bubble route as though turning their big day into a Lawrence Welk polka is somehow better than having a few pigeons blow up. I just think of them as organic fireworks.

Then there is the reception. The open bar is a good idea. So is the dancing. But put the two together and what do you get on your most joyous of days?

The chicken dance.

Whoever came up with this should be forced to go eat some rice. Personally, I had to endure two months of Cha-Cha lessons, to finally have some sweet moves on the dance floor, just to end up looking like a goof, flapping my arms and clapping.

So, if anyone ever comes up to me asking if I have some ideas to make their big day even better, I'll have two words for them: I do.

Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here,

each Sunday, in the Citizen.

He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com