Nobody invites me to weddings. Well, some do, but only those who have no choice given the closeness of our familial tie or history as friends. Because anyone who knows me well enough to potentially invite me to their wedding also knows I think marriage is a terrible idea, dare I say, a horrible scam. That’s not one of my fringe opinions I keep secret. I mean…how insecure do you have to be to give in to the practice of entering into a legal contract that ensures mutually destructive legal proceedings should either of you want to declare independence? That’s all marriage is: the bilateral imposition of ruinous misery should either party dare to defect from the union.

The point here is that no one wants a Negative Nikhil pontificating at cocktail hour about what a sham and an unfortunate relic of antiquity this whole thing is. No one wants to feel in their peripheral vision the smug glare of the date-less bachelor in the fifth row as they recite To Have And To Hold. No one needs a hater.

Not today, Nikhil. But in actuality, I am the perfect wedding guest! I’ll drink the right amount. I’ll chat up extended family. I’ll play that annoying-as-shit game of So, How Do You Know Eric and Michelle? And I’d never bring a date lest she misconstrue this farce as being in our future. So, you’ll only pay for one! Finally, rest assured that I’ll shut my trap about my dissent of marriage. Not a peep about it.

Still, I get it. Inviting me to your wedding means you’re paying a tidy sum to intoxicate a guest who is opposed on the most affected philosophical grounds to the biggest decision you might ever make. And for most, that’s just not worth having me save their date.