Weddings are happy occasions that normally come with great food. And in those occasions when the cuisine is not palatable — at least it’s free.

Now if you are family, then weddings imply only one thing: free labor. I’m not talking about back breaking work, that would be too easy, a labor picnic if you will.

I’m talking about Family Diplomacy, the very difficult form of persuasion and prose that is never practiced, not even talked about, in the halls of any reputable parliament or congress.

It is a process that takes days of mental endurance and includes many ‘compromised’ meals at smorgasbord eat-it-all Steakbarns that include free peanuts and waiters that are forced to dance on cue.

With the amount of negotiating done so far, I could have solved the differences between Israel and Palestine, JLo and Ben, Kirk and Sulu, and walked around the Earth seven times.

This is what happens when people, who were forced to live together for 18-24 years, are suddenly confined to a four door Jetta or 1 bedroom apartment. Thank the maker for the invention of the modern day hotel room with free HBO.

I write this, stowed away in the local Starbucks sucking down iced lattes trying to build up my energy for the next few days. I am only another terrible nights sleep away from developing a rocking habit while I hone my skills at counting toothpicks that are suddenly dropped on the floor.

Then on Saturday, at 1 PM PST my brother will at long last be legally and lovingly bound to his beautiful and intelligent wife. Their smiles will make the rocking sensation go away, their tears will easy the pain of family differences, and their future will be bright enough to make us all look back knowing this was all very much worth it.

Congratulations Brian and Rebakah. Many happy years are ahead of you.