Grown Man For Sale: Hairy. Needs Constant Supervision

I've been in a veritable morass of wedding excitement lately. It's inescapable, and so are the people who delight in announcing your daily countdown to matrimonial servitude.

"You're getting married Saturday!! How many days is that? 5??! I think its 5!! Cheryl honey, how many days is that? FIVE?"

Cheryl (breathily): "Oohhhh! Five!! I think so!! It IS five!! Here let me count" (Cheryle starts waggling her fingers and ticking off days) "Lets see. Monday, Tuesday . . . .FIVE!! I think its FIVE!! Can you believe that? FIVE DAYS"

Oh, I believe it.

First of all, you know quite well it's 5 days. I can understand a fair amount of ciphering if we're shooting for September 25, 2042; but we're talking about next Saturday. You don't have to count it out for me on your fingers or even estimate it in hours. No, seriously.

I'm just saying - I'm aware. I'm the one who got myself into this thing in the first place, so trust me when I say: I'm on board with the date. I couldn't tell you for sure details of any sort, but I know where to be and what time to get there. I also know where I live, what pizza is made of, and how to skin a bear; in case you were wondering.

To keep myself on an even-keel I've developed a few not-funny pre-wedding jokes lately. Know what's "not funny?"

"Hey Tyler don't drink that!!! It's bad for the baby!!!" very loudly in the bar line is "Not Funny"; suggested The Elbow of Silence.

Consistently getting the name of the wedding venue wrong? Also not funny.

I am the Un-Funny.

The only problem is; I've changed dates, times, and names around so much - now I'm afraid I've confused myself.

I need constant supervision.