Rich and Sarah got married. Everyone came. The prying aunt from Philly, the slobbery uncle from Sicily. The cousin with weepy eyes, the cousin-twice-removed who smells like mothballs.
The guest-list decision came one night over bubble bath and champagne.
“If we invite Aunt Jane, we have to invite Phyllis,” said Sarah, scratching in her notebook and splashing in the bubbles. “And if we invite Phyllis, we can’t leave out Bea.”
“And with Bea always comes her stupid dog,” said Rich, as he stepped in to join her. “What’s his name?”
“Yeah: Fucking Freddie. Pass the rubber duckie.”
“Rich! Focus! We either open up the list to the whole crazy family or…”
“Yeah, I know, but right now the loofah’s calling. I feel dirty — and I got my priorities.”
The guest list fell to the floor as Sarah scooted down deep and felt a slippery tongue between her toes.
In the end, everyone was invited, and all their friends and family attended, 532 in all. It was a much larger affair than they had envisioned. People drank and danced long into the night, peering into webcams and sending out good cheer from seventeen points across the globe. From 200 in Boston to 80 in Berlin to just Frida and Jorg and a well-behaved parrot in Cyprus, everyone participated with glee.
It was the first internet wedding in both families. It was also the first New Zealand bathtub wedding. It was also probably the first wedding with toe-sucking between I-do‘s.