Ryan makes it to the end of the aisle, turning and facing back down it like people at weddings do. The bridesmaids enter, a symphony of pink. I still dig me some Cindy. Tiny flower girls in adorable pink dresses! The ring bearer in a tiny fire engine! That poor little boy. Scarred and mocked forever. My brother played a glockenspiel solo in the third-grade orchestra concert and we still make fun of him constantly, mercilessly, fifteen years later. This is going to be murder. (A glockenspiel is kind of like a xylophone. By the way.)
The music changes abruptly to "Here Comes the Bride." And, well, here comes the bride. And the moment might be considered by some shocking or beautiful, but those people were all there at the event or those who designed that which is shocking and beautiful, but we're been living inside the craw of the planners for the past three weeks, draining any possible dramatic impact entirely away from this moment. Other than that, it's grand, baby. Trista makes her way down the steps and down the aisle, her step ginger and her hair, well, Gilligan's Island's Ginger. It's a little buoyant, wouldn't you say? She processes with her father down the aisle, the helicopters adding nothing but, as my grandmother would say if I had married Ryan, "a whole lot of ruckus."
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.