Yenta Alert

I'm in line at the mini-post office inside the pharmacy, when the yenta in front of me sees a nice young couple preparing a stack of boxes to send out.  They're standing off to the side, minding their own business.  "What are those?" she asks.  "Wedding invitations," the groom-to-be tells her.  "Really?  They're so big for wedding invitations."  The bride-to-be smiles.  "They're bottles.  The wedding invitation is inside."  "Oh.  Very clever,"  the yenta says.  "So when's the wedding?"  "Soon," the young man says.  "Fine. You don't have to tell me when. And where is it?"  "Hawaii," the young woman says.  "Why don't you invite me?  I'm a lot of fun at weddings."  The couple laughs awkwardly.  I roll my eyes at the post office lady.  We share a non-verbal "oy vey" as the yenta goes on.  And on.  "Marriage is a lot of work, you know.  It's all about communication and trust.  It takes two to tango."  I can hear "shut up, already" perched on the tongues of everyone in line.  The urge to shove this yenta into the big canvas cart marked US Postal Service overtakes me. For once, I show some restraint. The not-that-happy couple is now conversing in a foreign language, probably debating who gets to tell this woman to get lost. "Well," the yenta says, "Congratulations.  I hope your marriage lasts.  Mine didn't." With that, she makes her exit. "Don't listen to that crazy lady," I tell the future Mr. and Mrs. "Of course your marriage will last.  Mine has.  Thirty-five years of uninterrupted bliss.  Thirty-six in August, but who's counting.  Mazel tov!"  They hand me one of the boxes.  "We hope you can make it."