Marry Me A Lot
HRWEG hands off his only daughter (well, Jackie, but whatever...his only daughter) to Ryan with a misplaced "I love you, man" that actually means "now you deal with it, sucka." Trista tells Ryan "you can't kiss me yet" and then again muses on the presence of helicopters. Oh, there are helicopters? RevClint gives them some quick welcoming words and launches right in: "Thank you all so very much for coming to this beautiful place to watch these two amazing people do what they are about to do." That sounds a lot more fun than it turns out. RevClint adds that "we learn to love by being loved." Trista learns to love by watching it on Wednesday nights. This is so sickeningly surreal. I want to eat Trista's bear claw right off the Viennese Table.
A sonnet by Elizabeth Barrett Browning sends the helicopter mix down for a minute as Browning drowns them out spinning in her grave, until Trista screws it up and has to apologize. Ryan screws up too and just keeps going. The poem, incidentally, is the one that begins, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." You just start counting, Trista. We'll stop you as soon as you get up to $3,778,000.
"To symbolize the importance of the individuals within the marriage...three colors of sand will now be layered into a vase." Wait, it will? Yes, it will! Trista and Ryan are each given a vase of sand, RevClint snarking on Trista's color of pink and therefore symbolizing that pink jokes are officially over. Ryan's sand is blue. RevClint's is neutral. Wait, is he accidentally getting married to them? Oh, neutral means that the marriage is grounded. No, it doesn't. It means that this sand art in a vase bullshit is one twisted Coke bottle away from being the worst booth on the strip of the most touristy town on Cape Cod.
Trista and Ryan have written each other "a letter" declaring their love for one another. Ryan goes first, telling Trista "in falling in love with you, I've found something so special." He tells her, "You're the inspiration." If you're my mom, that song might make you cry, too. But to a certain sect of baby boomers, Chicago 17 is literally like crack. Don't even mention "Hard Habit to Break" around my mom unless you want a fully orchestrated version of the entire thing, complete with one-woman-provided backing vocals. And don't you worry about the accompaniment. She also has the sheet music. And she's not afraid to sight read.