I had heard some buzz about a possibly unusual upcoming wedding, so I decided to investigate for my paper—I’d made a specialty of covering out-of-the ordinary-weddings, in fact it kept me employed—while a lot of my fellow reporters were becoming victims of downsizing.

I found William Jenkins at the rehearsal dinner at a local restaurant the night before his wedding, and he graciously granted me an interview, which went as follows:

“Hi, Bill, thanks for your time. First of all, congratulations to you and Mary. Could you tell my newspaper’s readers what is so unique about your wedding.”

“Unique? I don’t see exactly how it’s unique.”

“I did do some checking in advance and so far, I haven’t found anything. Now, apparently this is not a same sex marriage, which anyway is, thankfully moving towards being not all that unusual anymore, but …well, did Mary used to be a man?”

“What?”

“And did you used to be a woman?”

“I don’t quite…”

“Just asking. Is this a Reverend Moon type wedding, with 30,000 couples getting married with you?”
“I don’t know where we could get a hall for that.”

“Good point. Well, are you different races from each other?”

“No, she’s white like me, and she’s as pure as the driven snow.”

“I’m sure she is. So, this isn’t anything like the combined 20th marriage for you two?”

“This is our first!”

“Huh.”

“And our last!”

“Understood. How about dramatic religious differences?”

“No, same church. Hey, how about this? She likes going to church on Sundays, and I like watching football on TV. That could be a conflict, huh?”

“I think you’ll work that out. How about ethnic and cultural differences? Anything newsworthy there?”

“Boy I’ll say. She’s Scotch-Irish, and I’m English-German, with some Scotch-Irish thrown in. Wow, huh?”

“Wow, indeed. Oh, are you adopting a bunch of kids from Third World countries and having them here on your wedding day?”

“MMM, no. Both Mary and I come from long lines of people who had children.”

“How about famous people attending the wedding?”

“Hey, maybe you’ve got something there. My wife’s cousin is the City Manager for a town in Minnesota. Plus, did you ever see the movie, “X-Men: First Class?”

“Who didn’t?”

“Okay, one of my groomsmen was in that—I think he had a speaking part, I’ll have to check. He’s always saying, ‘I’m one degree of Kevin Bacon.’ Then he laughs like a fool.”

“I don’t think so. How about the band? Rolling Stones, Metallica, The Oak Ridge Boys, or The Black Eyed Peas? Or, Nicki Minaj would class up any wedding.”

“I wish. I think they’d be over our budget. Besides, we’ve already booked a cover band that can also do the music traditionally associated with weddings—polkas, the Chicken Dance, and the Macarena.”

“Well that rules out any expensive and elaborate affairs designed by a professional wedding planner. I’m still trying to figure out what’s making your wedding so special. The venue maybe. Hope it’s not at a stadium during some huge sporting event. Everybody does that, same for weddings in hot air balloons…wait, are you getting married in space?”

“No, Mary’s afraid of heights.”

“Hmm. So much for up on the roof. What about under the boardwalk, down by the sea? Sitting on the dock of the bay?

“Nope.”

“In rehab? Vegas, baby?”

“We’re getting married right down the street at the little red church our families have been going to for generations.”

“You know, in that old comic strip, ‘Li’l Abner,’ Marryin’ Sam offered to perform a wedding while being torn apart by two mules.”

“I’m afraid Pastor Thompson’s constitution couldn’t take it.”

“The vows! Is she going to read hers as a French roundelay and are you reading yours in Klingon?”

“I don’t understand those words.”

“I’m grasping at straws, here. Are either of you suffering from a terminal disease, facing a long prison term, renouncing your citizenship, or using the ceremony as an audition tape for a reality show? You’ve got to have something for me.”

“I wish I did. Say, why don’t you come to the wedding? We’d love to have you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anybody—but you know what, that might just be what I need—going to a nice average wedding with nice ordinary folks. Thanks. I’d love to come.”

“Great! See you tomorrow at noon. And, so you won’t feel out of place, just make sure you wear a diaper.”