Criss Angel is performing matrimonial magazine magic in our apartment and I'm kind of freaked

Yes, the stack that occupies our kitchen table has quadrupled in size overnight. I squashed a fly with one of them this morning, only to find that we had two more copies of that exact same magazine. It's a bit like that scene in Signs, where the daughter leaves untouched glasses of water all over the house that will eventually be used to kill the aliens. Only without the aliens.

For the contents of bridal magazines, please consult this pie chart:

In other words - as far as grooms are concerned - we are not their target readership. That is, unless you have that special brand of spare time that permits you to sift through 400 pages of pure estrogen, only to stumble upon the 2.8 pages that may be mildly helpful.

Flipping through one particularly weighty monster last night (I do so mindlessly in the evenings to make my 2E's happy), I came across a model standing in a tattered gown in knee-high grass, a dark brooding sky behind her, a bull's horn in her right hand and a bull attached to that horn. Model and bull, side-by-side in a pending rainstorm. It was like something out of a Reese Witherspoon backwoods comedy about an urban girl who marries ... oh, I don't know ... Harry Connick, Jr.?

We'll call it Something Borrowed, Something Blew. 

No, that's not it. I'm thinking Hitching the Hicks.

2E's asked me to participate in a bridal mag quiz this weekend, to which I replied "OF COURSE." The quiz asked bizarre questions akin to:

Which of the following would be your ideal musical entertainment on your big day?

(A) The bride's teenage brother's experimental metal band
(B) The groom's mother's harmonica stylings
(C) A steel drum band you stumbled upon in the subway last week
(D) Your iPod

Ideal? Hell, none of these. Ideal would be a live band that didn't exude pure cheese and/or price out to 8 million dollars for the evening. Ideal would be Huey Lewis and the News.

To be fair, the magazines may prove worthwhile. I mean, if I ever need to flatten something, I know precisely where to go. And, you know, if those aliens ever show (those very masculine aliens), perhaps the Carolina Herrara spread on page 461 will be their kryptonite. Let's only hope.