Getting married at a Waffle House restaurant (a big Southern US diner chain) probably isn’t for everyone, but I kind of like these people. They both work at Waffle House, and understandably, Waffle House is a big part of their lives, so why not get married there? They’re somehow less obnoxious than those Bridezillas who demand that the perfect cutlery be flown in from Sweden, or, you know, that the cake be a life-sized replica of themselves. Plus, Waffle House is delicious.
Once, on a roadtrip, we stopped at a Waffle House in a small town in Mississippi. The waiter was a very friendly, very effeminate man with outrageously plucked eyebrows and violet contact lenses, who surprised me by mentioning that he’d just come from church. “It’s Wednesday night,” I commented, to which he replied, “Honey, what the hell else am I gonna do in this town?”