An Excel spreadsheet three pages long.  Every minute choreographed.  Laughing.  Flared tempers.  A bridesmaid who looks good in glasses.  Boxes of wine.  Boxes of...cognac?  (Asian weddings have hard liquor at every table.) Greek columns that you can carry on your back.  (Maybe Rome was built in a day.) Shot glasses for the guests (candy for the kids).  A rented tuxedo that’s all over me like a...rented tuxedo. Preparations for a tea ceremony.  No, two ceremonies, one for the bride’s family and one for the groom’s. Only certain people open the door for other people; otherwise it’s an insult.  Two vacation days from work.  No time to myself.  No time for Christmas shopping.  Only one, laser-guided mission on everyone’s mind: get the couple together, legally unite them, let innocents suffer if they unknowingly block the way.  And everyone is a jack of all trades:

“Okay, if people start arriving all at once, the groomsmen may have to help out with the ushering.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure the guests sit on the appropriate side of the room, and don’t let them walk down the center where we’ve spread the rose petals--”

“Right.”

“And if it’s a girl, offer your arm so she can hook her arm into yours.”

“Huh?  Any girl?  Even if you don’t know her?”

“Yes, that’s what ushers do.”

“Wow, I didn’t know ushers were such sluts.”