I find myself in an awkward life-and-death situation. I need a bell, but if I buy my own, it will not work well. And if I ask for the bell, the one I receive will possess fewer protective properties. If I neither buy nor ask for the bell, it’s unlikely that I will get one. The consequences could be dire. Let me explain.

I know I’m not being politically correct, but I hate weddings. It’s not that I don’t like the institution of marriage — it’s the ceremony I can’t stand. It’s painful watching a couple agonize over the number of guests to invite, the size of the wedding cake, and the seating arrangement. And it’s uncomfortable to watch the couple say their vows. You see the stress on their faces that says: What did I just agree to? 

Being of sound mind and ill will, I, Karen Miller-Strauss, execute this document dated March 19, 2022, to replace all prior wills and codicils from me or my beloved late husband, Arthur Strauss for whom I am next of kin, a blood relative, having given blood to sustain him during his final surgery. Disbursements will be reduced by the line item amounts for reasons stated.

Class Requirements: Black turtleneck. Hair pomade. Pack of Gauloises (or, in a pinch, Camel non-filters). Espresso-stained copy of Être et rien (and you will regette rien by rrroolling those r’s). 

Gabby Star married my Grandpappy when he was a body-building swarthy hunk of a man and she had a Dolly Parton wig and waist. Gabriella Stella was Gabby Star’s given name but she preferred the anglicized Star lest someone miss the glorious implications of her naming. And Gabby to balance the glory with accessibility. And never Grandma, Nana, nothing to suggest she had lived long enough to see two generations birthed. Gabby Star preferred to be called nothing but Gabby Star. Unless it was a deep bass Baby from hunky Grandpappy across the room. That seemed permissible.