I’m a wedding planner’s worst nightmare. No, I’m not a nudist, a loud-mouthed drunk or a lactose-intolerant vegan who’s allergic to floral arrangements.

Would you exile Mary-Louise Parker to the margins of your wedding? You might.

I’m a single woman over 40.

I refuse to sit at the Singles Table, where thrice-divorced men cast anxious glances at their Blackberries and women reach into their purses for Xanax. And if you put me at the Incontinence Table with Aunt Agnes and Uncle Marty, you’ll be sorry. I’ll stick a rose between my teeth and dance a torrid tango with the busboy. All I’m asking is to sit with my peers: vibrant, intellectually stimulating men and women who happen to have something that I don’t at the moment. A spouse.

Fifty years ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Every family had a spinster who parted her hair down the middle and subscribed to Readers Digest. She was harmless.

I, on the other hand, am dangerous. I wear my hair too long, show too much leg, and the marijuana in my nightstand is not medicinal. Am I promiscuous? Better believe it. I honestly don’t remember how many men I’ve slept with. But that doesn’t mean I want to have sex with your husband (or wife, for that matter). I just don’t want to be marginalized by my martial status and hidden under a burqa of shame. Not at weddings, bar mitzvahs, anniversary parties or snooty restaurants.

I mean, think about it. Suppose everyone was seated according to their sexual history? It wouldn’t simply be a matter of separate tables for gay, lesbian, straight, bi and transgender guests. (Which in itself would bring a class action law suit by the ACLU faster than you can say Lady Gaga.) Party planners would have to do extensive research to determine each guest’s behind-closed-doors preferences. You’re a swinger? Fine. You and can sit with the Bradleys, Simpsons and Rosenthals—feel free to take home the centerpiece and whomever strikes your fancy. Have a penchant for bondage? Check out the bunny-fur handcuff favors at table nine! An S&M aficionado? No problem. You’ll be chained to your chair by a masked dominatrix and fed leftovers from Kim Kardashian’s wedding. (Stay away from the shrimp. It goes bad faster than Kim’s marriages.)

Cheaters won’t actually dine in the main ballroom—they will receive a text message prior to the event which will instruct them to drive to the nearest Motel 6. Foot fetishists will be accommodated with electric scooters upon arrival—it goes without saying that six-inch heels were not made for walking. If you and your partner are fond of sex in exciting, adventuresome places, you’ll be thrilled with your table. It’s located in the kitchen where you’ll be surrounded by illegal aliens handling sharp knives and boiling cauldrons, screaming in foreign tongues.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re not kinky. You’ve had the same mate all your life and neither of you has ever cheated or even fantasized about another partner. Of course, there’s a lovely table for you. But you’ll be lonely. The only other people there will be Aunt Agnes and Uncle Marty.

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  • irene December 14, 2011 at 11:55 pm

    Good points! I hope those wedding planners are paying attention. Enjoyed reading this and feel relieved I am not in the wedding loop these days.

  • RozWarren December 14, 2011 at 7:47 am

    Great essay! Read it. Loved it. Shared it on Facebook. Thanks, Stacia, for saying this and for saying it so well.