Like, I swear I think about more than any actual wedding.
The morning after we decide to get married or whatever we are each booking six months of personal training sessions. And we are booking a week in some really gay friendly, probably foreign beach town. We may have to plan the wedding date around the opportune weather in the destination. Couples waxing sessions may be discussed. Then we’re each buying like four speedos each. Not even trunks. Teeny tiny speedos. I don’t care about your body issues. If I am marrying you I probably think you look hot in them. We are beach drinking pretty much for a week straight, and we are going to get deep, deep speedo tans because, like, I’m sorry I am so in to that. And oh god there will be a photoshoot. and oh god I will frame the results and keep it in my closet. And oh god if, god help me, I somehow wind up marrying an exclusive top he’s still getting fucked because I can’t help my self. There are no exceptions. There will be time for classy trips when we wear clothes later on. Ok, we’re married. We can go to Paris some other time. We are doing this no questions asked.