Bouquet of doom

Oh, weddings. 


It's funny to me that everyone thinks they're doing something entirely different from everyone else but really, they are all the same. 


Bitter. Party of one. 


If the stars align, there will be a wedding in my future. My own. And when that happens, I may very well take to this blog to annoy the shit out of everyone with my ideas for bonbonieres and boutonieres and buffets and whatever other b word I can think of that is wedding related. 


But there is one tradition I will certainly stay away from. And that is the bouquet throwing. 


I went to an old friend's wedding a few weeks ago. She's a friend from high school I've sort of lost touch with, but I was delighted when she invited me last minute to her wedding. 


No sarcasm there. For real. I was delighted. 


I borrowed a friend's car, Googled the directions, put my party dress on and went solo. 


I shimmied into the sweaty little church and took a seat. I had no reason to mill about outside. I didn't know anyone. 


I was relieved when a couple of old friends from high school strolled into the church and sat with me. 


I really hope nobody noticed that my thighs were sticking to the pew. I'll probably go to hell for that. Or something. 


Pew. That's a funny word. 


Later on, at the reception, I was thankfully seated at a table with the same handful of people I knew. All of them married. Except one gal who was there with her BF. 


Now, I'm all for independent ladies and I buy my own diamonds and I buy my own rings and all that malarky, but when you go to a wedding alone, and you're the only single girl at the table, and your old high school friends remind you that you were the "smart and pretty one" in high school it sort of gets to you. In a where-did-I-take-a-wrong-turn kind of way.


When the photographer was going around taking photos of all the couples at the table, one of my married friends volunteered to have his picture taken with me. I HAD A PITY DATE FOR A PHOTO. WHO IS MARRIED WITH FOUR KIDS. I think my face sort of says it all here. 

My faraway manfriend politely reminded me that it's okay to be single. 


He's obviously never been the only single girl at table full of married people at a wedding. 


For which I'm extremely thankful. 


When the very, um, enthusiastic DJ called all the single ladies to the floor for the throwing of the bouquet, I tried to slunk into my seat and hide. Until other single girl with the BF gave me a look. A look that said, "if I have to go up there, so do you." 


Why? Why do I have to stand on a dance floor and have an entire room wonder why I'm not married with 2.5 children? Can't I just eat my amuse-bouche in single girl peace? Plus, my shoes were made for sitting. Not for standing. Nor bouquet-catching.


But, I'm a good sport. So off I went. I threw my hands up in the air, like I just didn't care, for the photographer. And had a strategy of skulking away slowly, and walking backwards toward my seat before anyone even noticed I was gone. 


Sabrina turned around and lifted her bouquet over her head. Then everything kind of went into slow motion. The bouquet flew threw the air. And then it came closer. And closer. To me. Before it could hit me in the head, I reached my hand up and it went into my hands.


I caught the bouquet. 


Then this happened. 

That face is what happened. And then everyone looks at you. And what are you supposed to do with the bouquet after it's caught? I wanted that thing out of my hands as fast as it found itself into my hands. So I gave it back to the bride. 


And stood awkwardly for a photo. 

But not before a very handsome five-year old marched up to me and told me I was getting married soon. 

I wonder if he's available. 

*Disclosure: Sabrina's wedding really was fun, and she's a dear friend and I've never seen her so happy. Ever.