According to the magazines at the grocery store checkout counter, wedding season is pretty much under way -- which leads me to wonder what the penalty is for getting married out of season.

Recently, I took part in my brother's wedding and I was reminded that I actually like weddings. I'm not sure I like them as much as, say, a parade, or going swimming or a trip to Target, but I like them.

I don't really like the wedding ceremony itself so much. The desire to get everything just right, to make real life seem cinematic, puts so much unnecessary stress on the couple:
"Groom, when you see your bride, tilt your head exactly 27 degrees to the left, and smile whilst your groomsman all drop to one knee, point their right arms in obtuse angles and hum 'Maria' from 'Westside Story.'"

Meanwhile, all the friends and relatives are left to sit there, broiling in the suits that they only wear during wedding season and haven't had cleaned since 2000 and stare at each other, usually thinking something along the lines of:

"Oh, man, there's Mike. I hate that guy. I can't believe he got invited to this wedding. Nice suit from 1982, Mike. I hope he hasn't seen me, I do not want to have to talk to him."

"Could this church be any hotter? Why is it God's law that every church, regardless of denomination, must have uncomfortable pews and little or no air conditioning?"

"What does the bride see in that guy? I'm giving this marriage no more than six months before everything goes horribly J-Lo."

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To be honest, I'm not really a fan of wedding receptions, either. Food that only just meets the loosest definition of the word edible and a disc jockey who thinks he's funny and seems to believe Kenny G is romantic combine to form one of the lesser circles of hell, as far as I'm concerned.

Inevitably, there will be that strange or uncomfortable event that will stick in everyone's minds far longer than their recollection of the heavily choreographed ceremony.

At one reception I attended, the speech-making dragged on for an uncomfortably long time, with friends and extended family members delivering directionless tomes that made me want to drive a dinner fork into my leg. One family member began his speech with: "Who here likes fishing?"

He then explained -- for five minutes -- what exactly he liked so much about fishing. None of it related to the couple getting married.

At another wedding reception, several of the ceremonial aspects were delayed or scrapped because the father of the bride had suddenly decided he needed to go pick up a few items at a nearby Sam's Club. I could just picture him, in his tux, wandering down the aisles: "Mmm, Hot Pockets are on sale!"

I guess what I like about weddings are that they remind me of my own wedding: 1) how I don't have to go through all that nonsense again; 2) how happy I am to be married.

The joy of marriage can get lost in the day-to-day aspect of it. Quiet, lazy, sunny mornings in bed, my wife resting her head on my chest are regular for me. I always have someone I can hold when I'm distraught. Every day, all the time, there's someone who understands me and builds me up and laughs with me, and looks pretty darn good doing it, too.

A wedding reminds me of those uncomfortable moments Rachel and I spent almost five years ago standing in front of friends and family, nervously sweating, trying to stand the right way and not stumble our words before I pushed a ring onto her finger. A wedding reminds me of all the good times we've had since, even when weddings were out of season.

I like weddings because they remind me of the reason weddings take place.

Plus, you know, there's free cake.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.