I sang at the gay wedding of a guy I used to date.
And by “used to date” I technically mean “went on two dates with many years ago after harboring a secret crush on him for years and finally working up the courage to ask him out and being elated when he said yes and actually being nervous about our first evening together only to find out that while he was just as delightful a person as I’d imagined he’d be, we really didn’t have a lot in common and it was quickly obvious to both of us that romance wasn’t really in the picture but we still went on a second date just to be sure and it turns out we were right the first time.”
And by “I sang” I technically mean “I sang with 15 other representatives of the Chicago Gay Men’s Chorus, none of whom to my knowledge also ‘used to date’ either of the grooms.”
But still. How many of you sang at the gay weddings of guys you “used to date” this weekend?
The wedding was lovely, by the way. And the grooms looked radiant. And happy. And like they belonged together.
And I totally took notes. Our wedding could quite possibly end up looking like Their Wedding: The Sequel.
Except: We will not have an outdoor ceremony on a cold night in October and we will not have the singers wedged in so close to one of those tall gas space heaters that the one singer who “used to date” the groom on the left spends the ceremony worrying that his hair might catch on fire and he’ll totally Michael Jackson the whole ceremony.
Also: There will be way more cake. What is the point of having a wedding if there isn’t cake everywhere you look?