In that case, right before the solemn ceremony, you should high-tail it to the one liquor store in town, get a quart of beer and ask an old cowboy guy to take your picture. Then, jump in your Toyota Tercel, drink the quart of beer without dripping too much of it on your dress and get your asses over to the church.
Where the bride is also burping beer. At 10 AM. But that might possibly be leftover burps from the night before. I'm not sure.
Hard to imagine, but the marriage didn't last five years. Go figure.
My pal Connie and me in all our pinkness. She's the one with Miller Lite. And dimples.
Postscript - I was also invited, that same Valentine's Day, to another wedding that I couldn't make due to my obligation to wear a shiny pink dress elsewhere. That sacred union lasted less than two years. Note to the Internet: Please don't get married on Valentine's Day. When you're 22. The end.