Mrs. Bugs sends her regrets...
The year Jeff and I got married, we attended a grand total of eight weddings spanning both coasts and a couple of spots in the land-locked middle. The following year, there were seven, sprinkled up and down the West Coast. Three years ago, there were five; two years ago, three; and last year, two. We've been to intimate weddings, big weddings, religious weddings, pagan weddings, humorous weddings, expensive weddings, rugged weddings and pot-luck weddings. But of all the weddings we attended in these five years, not a single one was of the shotgun variety (though one couple did get knocked up a few months after announcing their engagement and before the big day).
When we got the invite to the latest wedding, we were a little surprised: Jeff's friend, the groom, had only been dating the bride-to-be for about a year, and had famously talked of his disdain for marriage, the meaningless piece of paper, yadda yadda. Apparently, however, he also had a disdain for functional prophylactics.
So their wedding registry? Babies 'R Us.
And the date? Day 9 of stims. Known to the rest of the world as next Saturday. Also known as, a herd of irate rhinos couldn't prod me into going.
Any suggestions on how, exactly, I should word my RSVP? Bugs is profoundly sorry for herself and cannot stand the thought of attending. Best wishes to the lucky fertile fuckers and their little fucking bundle of joy! Something like that, maybe? Oh, and I could also use some thoughts on the gift, if you have any ideas.