The “I Do” Joker: Or Why You Should Never Marry a Washing Machine
Part 3: Somewhere Between Cross-Examination and Bulky-Waste Aesthetics
The phone in my hand was vibrating so violently that I was afraid it might tear a hole in the space-time continuum. It was my mum. My mum, who cooks a pot of chicken soup big enough to feed a small town whenever someone has a mediocre cold. A message about a wedding was, for her, the emotional equivalent of aliens landing.
“Answer it,” Lukas hissed. “And use the ‘I’m-so-overwhelmed-with-happiness’ voice, not the ‘I’ve-eaten-nothing-but-frozen pizza-for-three-days’ voice.”
I accepted the call. “Hi, Mum?”
“FINN-ALEXANDER!” her voice boomed from the speaker so loudly that Mia flinched. “What is this message supposed to mean? Mia? The Mia you said would kill you if you ever left your socks in the hallway again? That’s the Mia you’re marrying?”
I shot Mia a desperate look. She silently mouthed the words: “Say yes or we die.”
“Yes, Mum,” I said in a voice that sounded like I was donating a kidney without anaesthetic. “It just… clicked. You know, opposites attract. And the sock hatred was really just… repressed passion.”
Mia rolled her eyes so hard I briefly thought she might be able to see her own brain.
“But so suddenly!” my mum cried. “And who is this Lukas who created the group? Is he the best man? Finn, we need to plan! The dress! The food! The seating plan! Aunt Erna must not sit next to Uncle Herbert, you’ve known that since the potato salad incident of 2018!”
“Mum, take it easy,” I interrupted, while Lukas wildly gestured that I should ask for money. “It’s going to be an… er… urban wedding. Very minimalist. We don’t want big presents, really just… support for the start. You know, a little financial boost for our shared nest.”
“A nest! How adorable!” she gushed. “I’ll call your aunts straight away. We’ll start collecting. But I expect an invitation next week if you’re doing this so spontaneously!”
I hung up and slumped into myself. “We need a venue. And fast. If my mum realises this is fake, she won’t disinherit me – she’ll make me weed her garden for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t worry,” said Lukas, grabbing his car keys (to an ancient Opel Corsa with more rust than paint). “I’ve got something. A mate of mine manages an old warehouse in the industrial area. He calls it ‘industrial vintage’. I call it ‘condemned, but free’.”
Half an hour later, we were standing in front of a hall that looked like no one had swept there since the fall of the Wall. It smelled of old machine oil, pigeon droppings and shattered dreams.
“This is a joke, right?” Mia asked, lifting her shoe and inspecting the unidentifiable lump stuck to the sole. “This is where they usually shoot horror films with people chained up in basements. You don’t celebrate a wedding here.”
“Just imagine it with fairy lights!” Lukas enthused, waving his arms through the air. “The bar goes here – we’ll just use some Euro pallets. The dance floor back there. And the hole in the roof? We’ll call that the ‘starlight opening’. Total hipster aesthetic. People will think we’re so edgy we don’t care about conventions.”
“Lukas,” I said seriously, “there are used tyres in the corner.”
“Those are seats in an ‘urban recycling style’!” he shot back. “Listen: if we spruce this place up a bit, the venue costs us zero euros. The money from the relatives goes straight into the back payment, and the rest… well, the rest we invest in a very nice weekend in Portugal while telling everyone we’re on our honeymoon.”
Mia looked around. She seemed sceptical, but then she checked her phone. “My mum just texted. She’s already booked a hotel. And she’s bringing ‘a few little things’. We’re officially in the game now.”
“Okay,” I said, breathing in the dust of the hall. “We need fairy lights. Lots of fairy lights. And maybe someone to get rid of the rats before the relatives arrive.”
“I’ll handle the rats,” Lukas said confidently. “You handle the guest list. We need at least fifty people to make the average-per-envelope work.”
“Fifty people?” I yelled. “I don’t even know fifty people I like!”
“You don’t have to like them, Finn,” Lukas grinned. “You just have to convince them you love Mia. And now: group selfie in front of the ruin! Caption: ‘Venue check for the big day! #IndustrialLove #Soulmates’.”
As the camera flash went off, I saw a rat disappear behind a stack of tyres. I had a bad feeling it would be the only witness to our downfall.