Please Register to Go Fuck Yourself
Why the fuck am I buying you a wedding present? You're in your mid-30s—if you don't have a blender or a throw rug or a set of 12 porcelain teacups, that is not my problem. In the old days, when poor 20-year-olds married each other, it made sense to help them start out their lives with a free roster of kitchen essentials, bedroom basics, and dining flatware. But you have two incomes and stable careers, and even purchased your own home! And now some single, unrequited, whiny bitch like me has to go online and be the asshole who buys you a paper shredder due to my reluctance to give in to your Christmas list? I suppose so. But before I do, don't think I haven't bemoaned this outdated tradition directly to soon-to-be-married fiancées. I lean over with my drink in hand and begin, "I just can't believe what weddings have turned into! All these traditions we have to endure, right? And just imagine, I'm supposed to buy people with two cars and a couple of master's degrees between them an Iittala vase!" They nod, they agree, and invariably they send me a wedding invite with a list of registry demands.
I'm happy and honored to celebrate the union of two loving individuals. But do I need to buy you shit you don't need and I likely can't afford? (Don't tell me it's quid pro quo because you're giving me free drinks and food at the reception. I earned that when I went to the wedding shower, with ANOTHER GODDAMNED GIFT IN HAND!)