Despite the numerous technological and scientific advances of the twenty-first century, the medical world has yet to find a remedy for the common cold, though certain medicines may alleviate symptoms and tissues have been made soft enough so that even the reddest of noses might bear them. But never fear, for regardless of the great scientific minds' failure to pinpoint a cure, absolutely everyone with whom you come into contact when suffering from the common cold will have their own pet remedy and be more than happy to share it with you.

Say you meet a neighbor in front of your house. She looks you over warily before saying inquisitively, “Why, hello there. What's the matter? Have you been crying? Your eyes are red.”

“I hab a code,” you respond, trying to get a decent breath through sinuses that feel as if they were filled with cement.

“Oh, that's too bad,” replies your interrogator. “What you need is a nice, warm bowl of chicken soup.”

And off on her merry way he goes, leaving you with such a helpful, though unsolicited, piece of advice. Then, it's on to the office where every single co-worker has his or her own ideas about how to remedy a cold.

“Tea and honey: there's nothing better for a scratchy throat.”

“Orange juice: that's the key! Gallons of it.”

“You do realize, don't you, that you could have prevented this if you'd only washed your hands more often?”

“Your eyes are all red. Have you thought about smearing an an eye patch with aloe and wearing it, alternating it between eyes?”

You stop at the grocery store after work, and it's only more of the same.

“What you need to do is strip down naked as a jay bird, go outside, and roll in the snow.”

“Stand on your head and yodel; it's the quickest way to clear out your chest.”

“Nasty cough you've got there. You should mix together a fourth cup of chili powder, a half cup of honey, and a cup of hot water. Add a little lemon juice for flavor, shake well, swallow it all at once, and bingo! No more cough.”

Advice, suggestions, opinions, hot air—all of it is free for anyone who has a cold. “I don't want their quack remedies,” you mutterly darkly to yourself between sneezes. “What I really want is to be left alone. Don't they think I know what works for me? Everyone is positive they know more about colds than anything else in this world.”

So it would seem , but in truth, there is one other realm in which the human race instinctively assumes more expertise and thus, feels innately more drawn to meddle: weddings.

Planning a Wedding (always spoken and written in capital letters since it has become such a mammoth undertaking in today's society) is by no means an easy task for any bride-to-be, to whom the majority of the work usually falls. Some young ladies have been Planning a Wedding since they first wore high heels, while others do not give serious consideration to the task until they are engaged. In either case, it is a 99% given that the couple in question has at least some idea about how they might like their special day to be and they are probably not in need of too many more. It seems logical enough, and yet, whenever people know someone who is Planning a Wedding, they insist on blindly overlooking such logic to zealously inform her just how to go about the process. Advice, suggestions, opinions, demands—whatever you want to term it—it is given, seldom offered, in relentless waves from the very moment one is engaged. No matter what a couple's own ideas may be, there is almost always someone else who knows of another way to do things to make their wedding “unique;” after all, who would ever want a common wedding?

While some suggestions truly are helpful, it is sad to say that the great majority falls decidedly in the category of Meddling. Why others insist on bullying their way into someone else's wedding and imposing their own wishes is one of the many inexplicable wonders of the world. Relatives are usually the first to innundate the couple with their own pet ideas, since they are generally among the first to know.

Imagine you are a typical bride who has just announced her engagement to John at a family gathering. The news falls on the ears of your kin like a spark on a powder keg, and before you can blink, questions are being fired back at you and advice is exploding around you as if it were the Fourth of July.

“When do you plan to be married, Dear?” asks Grandmother.

“Well...”

“June,” barks Uncle Albert. “Everyone gets married in June.”

“Hush, Albert. You were married in November,” retorts Aunt Edith.

“A June wedding would be lovely,” interjects Great-Aunt Martha, a full-fledged spinster if ever there was one. “You could be married in the botanical gardens among all the roses. They have a lovely gazebo near the lily pond, and there are always pink flamingos wandering around.”

“I know of a talented chamber orchestra that played at a wedding last summer,” adds Aunt Maggie. “I was positively moved to tears by the Back Fugue.”

“ Chamber orchestra?! ” cries Uncle Hank. “Naw, ya'all don' want none o' that highfalutin' chamber music, though the fudge is a good idee. What ya'all want is a good country hitchin'. Hev it in the park, ever'body wears denim and sits on hay bales. Lots o' good country music and some dancin' afterwards. Now, that's the way to plan yerself a shindig.”

“I don't believe that is quite our style, Hank,” intercedes Aunt Gertrude, the most stylish of your relatives who believes herself to be the utter epitome of refinement. Turning to you with a smile, she coos, “I've always thought a December wedding would be lovely. Your colors will be silver and dark blue—not red and green—and the entire church literally bedecked in little white lights and poinsettias.”

“Yeah,” agrees Cousin Jimmy enthusiastically. “And you could have green frosting on the cake and bulbs and tinsel and little lights and a big, blinky star on top to make it look like a tree!”

“Oh, yes!” adds fifty-two-year-old Uncle Donnie, the renowned oddball of the clan. “I'd dress up as Santa for you and greet people as they came in. Then, we could hitch up a sleigh—complete with jingle bells—instead of a getaway car, and I'd cry, 'Ho, ho, ho! Meee-rry Christmas!' as I chauffeured you away.”

“But,” your mother manages to interrupt at last, “they really just want a simple wedding.”

“In April,” adds your father, dollar signs still flashing before his eyes.

Silence. Countless pairs of eyes stare aghast, so you rush to explain, “You know, an afternoon wedding with a simple reception...”

Finally the frigid quiet is shattered by Aunt Gertrude who laughs lightly, condescendingly and looks at you as if she feels sorry for you in your utter ignorance in the subject of Wedding Planning. “But,” she purrs in a sickeningly sweet voice, “you can't have a... common ...wedding. What will everyone think?”

“I didn't know there was a rulebook for weddings,” you respond, somewhat huffily. After all, you didn't ask for any of their free advice.

Aunt Gertrude draws herself up primly. “Now, Darling, don't be sassy. You know there is no rulebook; nevertheless, there are certain unwritten norms that one is expected to follow. It just won't do to have things too simple; someone might think you... common. ” Having put you firmly in your place, Aunt Gerturde continues, “Now, don't worry; we're your family and we're here to help you Plan your Wedding...”

Overwhelmed at this first cloud on the horizon of your happiness since your fiancé dropped to one knee and proposed, you desperately wonder how you will ever combine all the wishes and ideas of the family members around you. A garish image flashes through your mind as you envision an outdoor wedding with pink flamingos doing a country line dance to a Bach Fugue in front of a reception area filled with hay bales surrounding a wedding cake smeared with green frosting and adorned with lights and a star that blinks psychotically at its very top with uncle Donnie dressed as Santa and ringing jingle bells. You positively shudder in repulsion as you struggle to give your full attention back to what Aunt Gertrude is saying.

“...and Barbie would be more than happy to be your maid of honor.”

Suddenly, it is no longer difficult to pay attention. Barbie?! Not Barbie! Although you are the same age as your cousin, the two of you have had an ongoing relationship of complete and utter disdain since you were four. Nevertheless, you know you would never trade places with Barbie. Snobbish, fake and dumb as a rock, Barbie's only saving grace was her ability to sing. Although she couldn't add two and two successfully, Barbie could carry a tune more than tolerably well.

But singing abilities aside, the last thing you want is for Barbie to be your maid of honor...or an attendant of any type. With a collage of flamingos, Santa's, and hay bales swirling before your eyes, you have reached your limit. You smile firmly and say, “Oh, I'm sorry Barbie; I've already chosen my attendants. I thought perhaps you might honor us by singing.”

Something is different in your countenance. It is a look that strongly resembles steel, brought on by the horrific images still filling your mind's eye. Barbie and Aunt Gertrude both know that you are giving them no options; it is a take-it-or-leave-it situation, and they take it.Your victory in the realm of Wedding Planning, however, is sickeningly short-lived.

That same night the phone rings; it is your fiancé, John. You chit-chat a bit before John goes straight to the point. “Say, Sweetie, I was talking with my Aunt Linda, and told her that we would love for her to sing at our wedding.”

“ What? ” Visions of Barbie and Aunt Gertrude, outraged beyond all conceivable belief, explode before your eyes.

“Yeah. See, she sings at all the weddings in the family; it's tradition.”

“But ... I have to let my cousin, Barbie, sing. If not, I'll be in so much trouble ... You don't know my Aunt Gertrude... She'll have the Mafia on us... We'll never live in peace... And I don't want Barbie to be my maid of honor!”

John, confused yet unruffled, responds, “So what's the big deal? Aunt Linda sings one song, and your cousin Dolly...”

“ Barbie ,” you correct.

“... Barbie sings another. No prob.”

You sigh. “No, there's no problem. But please, John: let's agree not to ask anyone to do anything unless we have talked first.”

“Sure. Sheesh, no need to get so highstrung... Oh, yeah, Honey Bun; I meant to tell you one other thing. Mama thinks we should get married in May instead of April; May is her favorite month.”

“The date is set, the church is reserved, and we're not getting married in May just because it is your mother's favorite month.”

“But...”

“Listen: April happens to be my favorite month, and you're marrying me, not your mother. Got it?”

“O.K., O.K., all right already! Golly, what's gotten into you?”

Only seconds after you end your conversation with your beloved, the phone rings again. This time it is Ellen, a girl you attended one semester of kindergarten with before she moved away.

“Hi! This is Ellen—you know, from kindergarten. My grandmother just called and told me you're getting married. I just love weddings, and I've been in so many now...“

She leaves her sentence hanging, just in case you choose to pounce upon an opportunity to ask her to fill some role in your wedding. The next evening, it's your old best friend from high school with whom you lost complete and utter contact after graduation.

“Hello! It's Judy. I hear you're getting married. I've helped several girlfriends Plan Weddings, and I just thought it would be sooo much fun for us to get back together and Plan yours!”

And the calls keep coming in: relatives, future in-laws, neighbors, people from church, the garbage collector, the librarian, the fire chief, your mother's bridge club, the dog catcher, total strangers... Anyone and everyone knows just the cure to make your "common" wedding “unique”—at least, according to them.

“Have you thought of a bagpipe band?”

“A generic wedding in black and white would be so chic!”

“April? Why, that's not very far away!”

“Are you going to have Rover wear a tux and be your ring bearer? He's such a well-trained dog!”

“You should really consider leaving in a hot air balloon.”

“Hi, Honey. Say, Mama still thinks we should get married in May...”

“Planning a Wedding? You must be very busy.”

“Themes are really 'the' way to do a wedding, you know. You could base yours around a holiday—Halloween would be fun...”

“Why don't you have a medieval wedding? They didn't use silverware then, so that would save you a ton...”

“Don't waste money on a photographer; my son takes great pictures with his cell phone...”

“Getting married in April, huh? That's getting pretty close.”

“Hi, Sweetie Pie. Mama says the least you could do is wear her old wedding dress, since you refuse to get married in May...”

“But you can't get married without having at least a seven-course meal...”

“Pity John isn't a military man—you could all wear camouflage and combat boots.”

“Oh, you're getting married and Planning a Wedding. You must be simply crazy by now!”

“I just saw the neatest thing: connect-the-dot invitations!”

“My triplets would love to be your flower girls. I've already picked out their dresses...”

“My husband does clowning, and he'd make you a good bargain for the whole show: complete suit, orange wig, full make-up, big red nose and floppy shoes, and he'll make animals out of balloons. What do you think?”

Advice, advice, advice...and most of it unsolicited and most certainly unwanted. Advice that sounds utterly absurd and outrageous and produces an endless parade of nightmarish pictures that file through your imagination. Advice that comes flooding over you as you struggle to Plan a Wedding, feeling all the time as if you were swimming upstream.

“This is insane!” you wail. “Do these people really think I need, much less want , their advice? I've had enough!”

You are decided and you are prepared, and when your neighbor approaches you the next day, you are primed for the challenge.

“Have you thought of having a magician perform at your reception? My nephew, Lenny, has a million tricks up his sleeve, and...”

"Thank you for that suggestion, but I don't think so. I've heard a lot of ideas, and I simply can't incorporate everything, you know.”

She leaves, obviously in a very ill humor, but at least you feel as if you handled the situation gracefully and with a certain amount of diplomacy.

And so, in this manner, you continue to respond to the barrage of advice that lamblasts you. Then, just when you think the meddling is beginning to taper off and you have at least a little better grip on this animal called "Wedding," Aunt Gertrude calls and tries one last time to have things her way.

“Hello, Darling. How is the Planning going?” Without waiting for your response, Aunt Gertrude proceeds, “Dear, Barbie has a request for your cute little wedding. She wishes to serve as entertainment at your reception. She has such a tasteful repertoire of vocal solos worked up, and it would be just the thing to add a touch of class to your rather... common ...wedding.”

“Well, I certainly appreciate the offer, but we prefer to have the time to visit with the guests.”

“Oh, but this would be background music...”

“Thank you, Aunt Gertrude, but I really don't think so.”

“Well, then, you could use another song during the service; one is certainly not enough. Barbie already has the perfect number worked up—you know, that one that is the latest rage."

Instantly you thank your lucky stars that Aunt Linda is now a tradition at weddings in your fiancé's family, and you rush to explain. But Aunt Gertrude is not to be thus dissuaded. "Well, what would be wrong with a third? Barbie has practiced the song already...”

“The ceremony is just the perfect length as it stands.”

"But this song is the most popular song out these days!"

"Be that as it may, I don't like that song."

" But Barbie adores it! " shrieks Aunt Gertrude.

"But this is our wedding, Aunt Gertrude, not Barbie's. And quite frankly, I despise that song."

Silence.

"And now, Aunt Gertrude, I'll not keep you. Please give my best to Barbie, and tell her we're very excited to have her singing the song we have chosen. Good-bye."

You have not been defeated. You have won, and you know it. As the months pass, and you refine your ability to separate the good advice from the bad and to tastefully deal with those who offer outrageous suggestions, you look back to this victory as the one that truly made your wedding your own.

The Big Day arrives at last, and everyone comments that the wedding was lovely and the reception, enjoyable. At last it is over: you are through Planning a Wedding, and hopefully through with such large quantities of hot air.

About one year after you and John are married in the wedding of your dreams (and no one else's), you receive a rather frantic phone call from your best friend, Diane, who is engaged and has just begun Planning a Wedding.

“Tell me,” begs Diane, “how on earth did you ever deal with all the crazy advice that people dish out?”

“Diane,” you say, the voice of experience, “the only cure for all that unwanted advice is to learn to pick out the few good ideas and to say 'no' as graciously as possible to the rest.”

“But I hate confrontation and I'll feel so guilty if anyone gets mad at me. Oh, why do people insist on pushing their way into our wedding? Isn't there any other way to deal with this?”

“Diane, the reason that people insist on involving themselves in your Planning is an unsolved and unsolvable mystery. And no, I'm afraid there's no other cure and anything else won't really remedy the problem; it will only alleviate the symptoms a little. So, what you need to do now is calm down. Spend the rest of the day doing something relaxing. Then, take two aspirin, and call me in the morning.”

The End.