We don't want any gifts.

No, seriously: don't buy us a gift.

You've heard it all before, I know. "So-and-so said not to buy a gift, then we show up to see a Price Is Right showcase of appliances and have to go buy air fresheners and a copy of Flex Magazine at 7-Eleven." But this time we're serious. You don't need to buy us anything.

Tamara and I have lived together for seven years. We already have all the blenders, breadmakers, popcorn poppers, espresso machines, and George Foreman Grills we need. We even have a quesadilla maker, for crying out loud. And before this, she and I both lived on our own — though to be fair, being a bachelor, all I really had to contribute was a chipped bowl, an Indiana Jones coffee mug, and a spoon with one sharp edge.

Now, all this being said, a good friend of ours advised us that we would be well-served to create a gift registry if we didn't want to end up with 70 Thomas Kinkade prints. Why? Because people don't listen. "Don't bring a gift" apparently doesn't translate well into wedding-ese. So without a registry, who benefits? No one — except for the estate of Thomas Kinkade.

There are exceptions: some of you are being asked to bring cakes. Others are expected to buy me a drink. Other than that, don't buy us a gift!

(But if none of this has swayed you, here's a link to a registry that Tamara has kindly set up to satisfy your needless gift-giving impulses: myregistry.com)

Edit: We will accept one gift from Helen's parent's basement-o-rama to go with our 1970s green acryllic hanging living room lamp and the 8-track version of Sweet's 1976 album Give Us a Wink.

Actually, if anyone can produce one of these sweet Sweet bodysuits, I'd take one in a heartbeat.