An email exchange I had recently with my friend, Trupe.

Trupe: “Arnie I have a secret to tell you that I am embarrassed and sad about. I can't fucking find your great invitation in my house! I'm in an RSVP dead zone!!! Can I reply online? I think Viv [his daughter] may have hid it. We want to attend your wedding!”

Trupe: “Also, do not tell your fiance about this invitation debacle, Arnie. “
Me: “Err…”
Trupe: “I AM STILL LOOKING FOR IT! DON'T BUST ME YET! WONAK [his wife] WILL BE MAD AT ME! FOR SERIOUS.”
Me: “Sarah says, ‘tell Trupe we can send him another one, OR he can write me an apology in the form of a poem and pick two songs’.”
Trupe: “YOU FUCKING FUCK! I TOLD YOU IT WAS A GODDAMN SECRET!”
Me: “Just write a heartbreaking poem. You do that all the time, right? It's how you pay for lunches.”
Trupe: “It’s okay. My life is over anyway. Now I’m going to have to interrogate Viv in a manner I was hoping to avoid.”

Trupe: “I’m sorry I yelled at you Arnie.”

Tonight I gave Trupe several extra copies of the invitation, although I realized none of them included return postage. So when it comes to minor wedding etiquette faux pas, we are equal.