Anyone who has gotten married knows how the costs can rack up. There’s the venue, the photographers, the flowers, the cake, the napkins, the DJ (can you tell I got married earlier this year?), the disco ball that costs a barely believable $700, the outfits for the flower girls, the knives and forks, the tuxedo socks, which you previously didn’t know existed, the gifts for the best man and maid of honour, the events that you decided to throw before and after the day itself (honestly, it’s just a never-ending stream of people with their hands out), the seating chart that despite you making it yourself somehow ended up costing three figures, the chairs that you paid extra for because your now-wife didn’t like the colour of the ones the venue would have provided for free, the tanning moisturiser that you had to buy in two different shades because the first one made you look like a corpse, the teeth whitening, the Uber credit that you have a sneaking suspicion your best friend turned a profit on, the honeymoon and more (for the record, it was a lovely day and worth every penny).
It almost makes one wish they had a recent acquaintance who is a Russian oligarch and a close Putin ally who is willing to spend, for no particular reason, hundreds of thousands of dollars to defray some of the costs.
