Rain fell on their wedding day. Guests packed shoulder to shoulder under the tent before the very Universe, which cared not, but cradled the body that created the force that held their black leather shoes to the floor anyway.
The celebrant wiped the brine from his brow, reading boilerplate from the program. Thunder muffled refrains. With a smile, he placed his program on the table behind, and held his hands out to the couple.
“This is your story. Helen and Abe. Two hands on one pen. This way, how could anyone write legibly, you ask? Practice.”
The married among the guests tittered.
“You see, marriage is like a simile. We could say that marriage is like how marriage is like the mitochondrium, as a bacterium, became incorporated as an organelle in the eukaryotic cell, a union initiated and maintained by an obvious mutual benefit. No longer were cell and bacteria discrete. The two become parts of the one. And here we see just how marriage is like a poetic flourish, infinitely comparable depending on the needs of a particular thesis.”
The mother of the bride turned to her sister. “So true,” she mouthed.
“Your thesis, this union, is hierarchical, bearing three distinct tiers, the tertiary being the content of the simile, marriage as endosymbiosis, the secondary being marriage as a simile generally and the primary as being-as-is, viz. the demonstrable state of two persons seeking metaphors to clarify and give purpose to this simulation of a ritual once governed by meaningful and consistent metaphysics. Since the primary state of this affair is to be ignored as conventional wisdom holds, let’s proceed with your vows.”
Rain pattered on the tent. Lightning flashed. The celebrant held his hands aloft and the guests bowed their heads. To the ceiling, he called, “Let these vows be witnessed and remembered.”