Part of my job involves sizing up brides-to-be and deciding who might want to go to Barbados. Not with me, though, and that is most likely a good thing. I don't think there would be a honeymoon stage with most of them.

It would go right to divorce.

While I'm doing this sizing-up I am working a booth at a bridal show. You have probably seen the signs around your town: BIG HUGE BRIDAL SHOW, 10000 VENDORS, WIN A TRIP TO PARADISE."

If you have never attended one of these you have huckesterism to an extreme, and it is aimed at supposedly one of the foundations of western society, the institution of marriage. You have the video service, the DJ service, the florists, the insurance companies, and, yes, the travel agents and their suppliers (me) pushing their wares like cheap whores at the future Mrs. Consumer.

The bride-to-be takes a little card around and gets it initialed so she is eligable to win prizes supplied by the whores.

The bridal and honeymoon industry is fueled by billions, so for many you have the cost of the wedding and honeymoon being bloated to nearly the size of the national debt. Toss in a house and furnishings, and no wonder half of all marriages end in divorce, money problems being a chief reason for splitting.

Is this glitz parade a serious way to start a life together. Would our parents and their parents done such foolishness?

Yesterday the Chicago Bears played Detroit and kicked butt. Not that I care all that much, but the few guys that were dragged to the Bridal extravaganza were walking around like wounded puppies. I felt sorry for them and was handing out pants for them to wear, as obviously they had surrendered theirs long ago.

Maybe the bridal huckster industry is not so bad for me. Society maybe. But for me, when the brides-to-be are on their second or third time around the marriage game they may want to try a more sophisticated desto like Barbados, instead of swilling margaritas or beer in Cancun.

Me? I didn't choose any of the hundreds of brides attending. Why hook up with anyone who would hock my pants for a fragile piece of china or a balding DJ?

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