WEDDING BELLS AND ONE LESS HAG...

My worst fears are realized. Sara's getting hitched. Not only is someone other than myself touching her, but now he's gotten her pregnant and is permanently severing whatever sexual oddities we've experienced together (and by we've... I mean her).

Sara originally intended to have a simple, quaint ceremony. A quiet gathering of a handful of family and friends. A quiescent, reserved event was the intention -- after all... she is being BOUND AND CONFINED in holy matrimony at City Hall. You go girl.

All was right as rain with the invitations until a handful of relatives and friends multiplied and reproduced into a small country...

How does something like this happen? You think you've planned meticulously well, only to realize that your stratagem has been toiled with... and you soon find yourself resembling Princess Diana with your mile-long veil trailing behind your sorry ass as you part through a sea of onlookers.

I'm not exactly sure as to why I'm distressed about the upgrade to Sara's guest list, but I can only assume that I'm displacing my anger and am instead fretting the fact that one of my haggies will now be limited as to how much love she can extend in my direction. Since it's ALL ABOUT ME, I fear that I won't receive a sufficient amount of pokes, pinches, unusually rough gropes, random ass probes and the usual battering I've grown accustomed to. I'm going to miss it all you dirty bish. How dare you. Don't look at me.

I hate you Matthew.

I do.