Will you marry me?

I only ask because I was watching "A Wedding Story" on the Learning Channel the other day (it was probably a Monday, Wednesday or Friday), and I have determined that my only goal in life is to be on that show. Really.

In case you've never seen "A Wedding Story," I'll break it down for you: it follows a couple, usually relatively homely (reason number three hundred and seven why this show is perfect for me), from their first date to their wedding day. This is probably the most inspirational show on TV, because it proves that a) not everyone meets their spouse in college, as I was taught by my parents and television, both notorious liars, and b) if a six-hundred pound Korean immigrant woman with only three-fourths of her natural teeth can find a husband, so can I.

I am not, of course, a stranger to married life. Technically, my name is Kimberly Heidrick, since I've been married to Adam Heidrick since I was four years old. It was a whirlwind romance-- he put a worm in my hair, I knocked one of his baby teeth loose, we embraced, it was magical. However, we've been separated ever since I found another girl's cooties on his coat. And besides, seeing as how the ceremony was conducted by Miss Brenda, our day-care attendant, I don't think it's recognized by the state. Except for a bitter custody battle over a Care Bear plush toy, Adam and I haven't spoken since.

So, provided I can find a suitable suitor, I intend to be on this show. In fact, I have the whole thing all planned out.

All my bridesmaids will wear hot pink taffeta dresses with big flouncy bows on the back, in accordance with the Shable family rule of Big Ugly Bridesmaids Dresses. I, on the other hand, will be wearing a white sequined ball gown, hand beaded by handsome craftsmen in thongs, who will also be present at the wedding, also in thongs.

There won't be any sappy pep talk from my parents beforehand, I'll tell you that much. If there's one thing I don't want to ruin my wedding day, it's advice like "If you can love him in your darkest hour, you'll be together forever." The only advice I want to hear is "don't make fun of him if he starts losing his hair," and "if you fart, blame it on the dog." Seeing as how my father, who tends to be rather fixated on the importance of a well-cleaned carpet, will probably be following me up the aisle with a vacuum cleaner, Ric Flair will have to give me away (unless, of course, I end up marrying Ric Flair, which seems rather unlikely, but is still a distinct possibility if my deal with Mr. SmartCard falls through). And I won't be coming down the aisle to any wedding march garbage, no sir-- it's gotta be Rod Stewart's "Do ya think I'm sexy?" all the way.

And when the ceremony's over, I'm going to spike my bouquet and do a victory dance, followed by an in-your-face lap of all the unwedded bridesmaids, during which I will chant "and you said I'd never get married, you cowering spinster Communists!" Or else we'll just have a receiving line, I haven't really worked out the deets on that part yet.

With a wedding like that, I don't see how "A Wedding Story" could turn me down.

All I have to do now is find a husband.