We humans are a funny lot.

We have instincts to perform some of the most basic survival tactics.

For example, if we're crossing the street and a bus is bearing down on us - why, we'll jump right out of the way.

That's instinct.

You can't teach that.

And if, say, your wife comes home with some new jeans and she tries them on and comes in the den and saunters (women like to saunter) in front of the baseball game you're watching on TV and asks, "do these jeans make my butt look big?" you had better not tell her what you're thinking, which is - "big compared to what - the Rockies?" No sir, you had better say, "Why no baby. Those jeans enhance your beautiful curves and make me love you even more."

You will say this because:

A. You want to continue to be able to live INSIDE the house;

and

B. The game is tied in the top of the ninth and there's runners on first and third with one out and you REALLY need for her to move.

These reactions too are instinctive and promote survival.

And like birds of the air and beasts of the field we will want to choose a mate.

We can't help it.

It's instinct.

Men will get married because they become tired of eating TV dinners (did you ever notice the mashed potatoes in those things usually turn into some kind of spackling material; you could take those "spackling taters" and fill the dent in that left rear quarter panel of your car that you got when you backed into the light pole at the flea market because people with one of those traveling religions were handing out pamphlets and you got in a hurry because you wanted to get out of there before they got to you) and taking their laundry to mom's every weekend to get it done.

Women will get married because ever since they got their first Barbie, they've been "playing wedding."

And women's instinctive activity usually intensifies in June. Women REALLY want to get married in June for some reason. I'm not sure but I think it's because men get more tired in June since it's generally one of the hottest and most humid months of the year and our stamina is diminished. We come home from playing golf or softball or any number of other kinds of manly endeavors and we're hot and sweaty and tired and pretty much agreeable to anything. At this point men just want a tall frosty beverage and to be able to put their feet up and take a nap. Women instinctively know this and that's when they make their move.

HE: "Honey, I thought I'd drop by on my way home from the golf course. You got anything to drink?"

SHE: "Sure do. I have some extra-large frosty beverages in the fridge. I'll get you one. Why don't you put your feet up? Uh … say honey, do you want to get married?"

HE: "Sure, why not? Hurry with that frosty beverage, will ya?"

And the next thing you know you're standing in front of a preacher at a church and your nine friends are sitting on the groom's side and there's 400 people sitting on the bride's side and there's flowers EVERYWHERE and some woman in a frilly dress is playing "Here Comes the Bride" on the Wurlitzer.

And instinctively you begin to hear a song in your mind that more closely marks the occasion, which is "Another One Bites the Dust."

Women will talk in a secret code when it comes to discussing getting married. They use a language that we don't understand because it doesn't involve sports or power tools. They will use words like "bodice" and "taffeta" and "beading." So you play along when they start buying magazines about wedding dresses and talking about China patterns and "registering."

And they will start wearing stuff that takes your breath away. You'll go to pick her up to go for a ride in the country and she will greet you at the door wearing a pair of Daisy Duke shorts and a sleeveless shirt with the bottom tied in the front in a knot above her navel that shows off her finely tuned tummy and at this point she could put a collar around your neck and lead you by a leash straight to the gates of Hades and you'd happily clop right along - dohdee doh-doh-doh -- tripping on your tongue all the way.

And … uh … uh …. uh … Oh yeah.

Sorry.

I was just picturing those Daisy Duke shorts there and got distracted for a minute.

Anyway, her friends and his friends will begin to excitedly discuss the pending nuptials.

Her friends will describe the situation in a way that sounds like a medieval conqueror about to take over a helpless village.

HER FRIENDS: "When you make him give up his apartment, I hope you're going to get rid of that ridiculous inflatable Green Bay Packers chair and that awful electriccable spool coffee table."

HIS FRIENDS: "Man, you are lucky. That chick is so HOT!"

HER FRIENDS: "So you're going to sell his Dodge Charger and get a nice mini-van, right?"

HIS FRIENDS: "Man, you are lucky. That chick is so HOT!"

HER FRIENDS: "Have you told him you have signed y'all up for ballroom dancing lessons for the next 18 weeks and that they're on Saturday mornings?"

HIS FRIENDS: Man, you are lucky. That chick is so HOT!"

And so it goes.

I wish for you all a festive wedding ceremony, reception and honeymoon and a blessed long-lasting union.

And if it doesn't work out, those TV dinners with the "spackling taters" in 'em will always be there for you.

Klonie Jordan (editor@gaffneyledger.com) is executive editor of The Gaffney Ledger.