It’s starting again. I scraped through the first round of weddings—the post-college round—by the skin of my teeth. Always flying in from somewhere, always just after a breakup and always mourning the bride’s departure from my roster of available wing women, I won’t say that I exactly enjoyed the first round.
In fact, I pretty much hated it. (Probably because my friends’ weddings always corresponded with that time of the month and I’m wont to cry on a good day.) But no matter: this next round—the post-grad school round—is going to be awesome.
I know this because I’ve reached the point in my life where I don’t need much more than a drink, a killer dress and a pair of heels to have a good time. Boyfriends, although desirable, are like any other accessory: fun but certainly not necessary. There are always groomsmen. Besides, one’s happiness should not be dependent upon a designer bag or a Plus One; one’s happiness should come from within. (By which I really mean I’ll put an ad on Craigslist if it comes to that. I’d rather gain 20 pounds and find myself locked in a room full of pigeons than go to another wedding single.)
(Click here if you don’t already know how I feel about birds.)
In any event, I’m hoping that it won’t come to that. I’ve got three months until the first of my friends ties the knot. A lot can happen in three months. I could, for instance, find the love of my life and elope in three months. Alternatively, I could discover that I’m really a lesbian and bring Angelina Jolie as my date (although this would necessitate Ms. Jolie also discovering that she’s a lesbian, and she’d probably upstage the bride, so maybe this isn’t such a good plan after all). I could finally launch that mail order groom service I’ve been scheming about (obviously I’ll deal in primarily British exports) and/or arrange to get myself knocked up, this way I can show up in one of those adorable tummy-hugging cocktail dresses that somehow make a few extra pounds look sexy.
Then again, hope again hope, I could actually have a boyfriend by then.
Or I could just stop being so damn self-centered, celebrate the fact that eight wonderful people have found their soul mates (Congrats K & B, C & C, S & H and J & F!) and start honing my bouquet-catching skills, as instructed:
In the meantime, I rather fascinated by wedding stories. (Live vicariously much?)
Mine have been mostly horrible, mainly because I’m never the one getting married or even the one-holding-the-bouquet-for-the-one-getting married, but I’m sure I’m not the only woman out there who’s spent an entire reception alone drinking mojitos and texting an ex boyfriend who was never actually a real boyfriend in the first place?