In many ways, this particular redneck wedding was the most wonderful wedding I'd ever been to. Not only did it involve people I love, but, as is typical with weddings, the bride was beautiful, the groom was so hung over as to be insensate, and I cried. There were also many thoughtful touches which made the ceremony truly special.

The wedding was held in a storefront church in an aging stripmall in a smallish redneck town, with the church sandwiched in between an auto parts dealer and a beauty parlor. In order to stay hidden until time for the ceremony and then promenade down the aisle of the church, the wedding party first had to exit into the alley in back of the church, thread their way around some dumpsters and perhaps broken glass, go in the back of the neighboring beauty salon (whose owner had kindly given them permission to enter that way), and edge past local women who were ensconced under 1950's vintage hair dryers.

That put the wedding party on the sidewalk in front of the strip mall, ready to start their promenade. The flower girl had a case of cold feet on her way down the aisle. No matter. A relative of the bride's, an enterprising lad of about ten or eleven, simply slung the flower girl over his shoulder and pranced down the aisle strewing petals in her stead. And then the bride came, a blur of white accompanied by the sound system blaring something about little girls and butterfly kisses.

At some point in the ceremony, unity candles were to be lit. The mother of the groom rose from her aisle seat, a large piece of clear plastic somehow adhered to her bottom. It was as though, finding itself alone and orphaned in the world, the plastic was desperate to stay in the presence of a fellow man-made substance. I watched, horrified, as her polyester-clad buttocks swayed back and forth. Twitch-twitch. Twitch-twitch. Would the plastic stay or fall off? No one else seemed to notice it. Perhaps I was the only one rude enough to stare at people's bottoms.

As the mother of the groom approached the altar with her face entirely devoid of emotion, she was handed a lighter which she attempted to use to ignite a candle. Click. Click. Click. After several abortive attempts, she handed the lighter back to the pimply young man who'd given it to her. With one experienced flick, probably born of countless smoking sessions in back of the high school, he set the candle ablaze. Thus, the union of the bride and groom was blessed by a friend of the groom's rather than the groom's mother.

After the ceremony, a Spiderman doll was strapped across the grille of the Bridal Truck and fitted with an impressive shaving cream manhood. It was a very nice fertility symbol indeed, and one that would prove effective within a couple of years.

As I watched the Bridal Truck speed away into the dusk, the Wedding Lighter project was born. It seemed not only obvious but necessary that the lighters be coordinated with other wedding regalia. Perhaps the bride would carry a pearl encrusted bridal lighter down the aisle, discreetly tucked beneath her bouquet, or wedding lighters would be issued to the guests so that they could toast the happy couple with flames in true redneck Lynyrd Skynyrd style.

But all of that could wait until another day. There was a reception to attend, and it would be full of drunken rednecks, probably including me.