Being, as I am, a close friend of many of the greats and near-greats of show business, mine has not been an easy life of late. With so many of my dearest chums marrying and unmarrying in such short order, between the cost of wedding gifts and the emotional drain on me personally, I could be developing a phobia where orange blossoms are concerned. But, in my heart, I'm proud to say, hope springs eternal.
Some of you might write me off as a fool, but I prefer to regard myself as an unrepentant romantic. When people say "I do" in the presence of me and God, at least one of us assumes they mean it and that they aren't
crossing their fingers at the altar.
Okay, I confess that when Sean Penn and Madonna tied the knot, even I was a little bit skeptical. But when they got through the entire ceremony without the groom's slugging anyone, I thought those crazy kids just might make it after all. So when things fell apart, I blamed it on their youth.
As I recall, the next celebrity wedding I attended was the one joining Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett. A lot of the other guests did a poor job of concealing their pessimism about the union. In fact it seemed as if every time I visited the punch bowl, some wise guy was making snide remarks about Lyle's looks. I dismissed those rude comments as mere sour grapes. To me, it was apparent that Julia saw beneath the surface of the man. I was pretty darn certain that the Lovetts would go the distance, which is why I made several sizable wagers during the course of the afternoon. Which is only part of the reason why I broke down in tears when word reached me that Julia and Lyle were calling it a day.
I suppose even if I hadn't guessed wrong twice in succession, even I wouldn't have bet too heavily on Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley making it work. That is why, I feel I can now confess, I gave them a very nice toaster, but definitely not top of the line. Twice burned, etc., etc.
I must confess that when Jennifer Lopez walked down the aisle with what's-his-name, the choreographer, I hoped it was true love, but, along with most of her other best friends, I had a sneaky hunch that it was one of those on-the-rebound-from-Puff-Daddy deals. But, then, which of us hasn't had a Puff Daddy or Puff Mommy to rebound from? I like to say, I don't throw stones, I throw rice.
If I got razzed over my conviction that Julia and Lyle would make it last, it's nothing compared to the going-over I received when I announced to one and all that if ever a couple was made for each other, it was Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton. If I heard "But it's her third marriage and his fifth" once, I swear I heard it a thousand times. But it didn't faze me. Quite the contrary. Oh, I wasn't so silly as to suggest that the fifth time's the charm. No, what convinced me that this time it was for keeps were her tattoos. You should understand that no one holds body art in lower regard than yours truly. The physical pain aside, I have never understood why anyone would put a painting on his or her body that no one in his right mind would hang on his wall.
But, I could not ignore the fact that Angie had desecrated her lovely self with not one, but four tattoos announcing to the world that she belonged body and soul to Billy Bob. Still, I will admit that I waited a while before sending them their
wedding gift. However, when they adopted the Somalian baby, whom I had hoped they'd name Burt, I was certain that those two lovebirds were bonded for life. Only then did I get around to Fed-Exing them their toaster. I know, bad timing. If I'd waited just a couple more weeks, I could have saved myself the $79.50, plus shipping and handling. But no sense crying over burnt toast, as it were.
I suppose by this time most of you are firmly convinced that I'm the world's prize sucker. So sue me. But I say, better a Pollyanna than a Cassandra. You're probably wondering why I haven't mentioned the recent break-up of Ms. Liza Minnelli and Mr. David Gest. Well, though I'm loath to admit it, especially as I had already booked a flight to New York, New York, and had reserved a suite at the YMCA, the lovebirds decided not to invite me to the wedding. I'm not sure why, but rumor has it that Liza, a notoriously superstitious little vixen, considered me a jinx.
If you liked this article, perhaps you'll also
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©2004 Burt Prelutsky
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