So remember that wedding I went to earlier this summer? Probably not, because it wasn’t my wedding and I don’t generally care for events at which I’m not the center of attention. Besides, nothing blog-worthy happened—or so I thought.
I neglected to mention that on my way out of the church after the ceremony, I noticed a man seated several rows behind me. Not because he was particularly handsome, mind you, but because it’s hard not to notice someone when both of your parents are hissing “Single guy at one o’clock! He’s checking you out! HE’S CHECKING YOU OUT!”
A discreet glance towards the back of the church confirmed that he was indeed checking me out but by the time we reached the reception hall, I realized that he wasn’t entirely at liberty to do so. Why? Well, he was the date of one of the bridesmaids.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have minded (alright, I wouldn’t have minded much) but I was dateless and the man in question was one of approximately two single men present. Plus, he could dance. And his date… well, let’s just say she wasn’t exactly making the most of his Fred Astaire tendencies.
I excused myself to the restroom to hide my disappointment. Unbeknownst to me, my mother took this opportunity to grill the bride on the marital status of her entire bridal party.
“They’re just friends,” she informed me upon my return to our table.
“The guy who was checking you out. I got the full scoop. He and the bridesmaid—they’re just friends. They work together.”
At this, my dad pulled out his wallet. “Go for it,” he urged. “Ask him to dance. I’ll give you five bucks.”
I shook my head.
“Twenty. Final offer.”
I did actually owe my dad twenty bucks, so I decided to give it a shot. Plus, the DJ had just called lady’s choice and you can’t say “no” to lady’s choice.
Long story short, he said yes. And he was totally charming. And totally brilliant on the dance floor. I thanked him for the dance and he asked me for a second, but on account of his date, it never happened. He left, as far as I could tell, with nary a glance in my direction.
“How did it go?” the bride asked as we said our goodbyes.
“Well, we danced…”
“Yeah you did!” the groom interrupted.
“But that was it.”
Oh well. I had my twenty bucks in my pocket (or rather a cancelled I.O.U.) and left secure in the knowledge that my bargain basement frock was indeed worth every penny.
Why did I bother to relay such a disappointing tale? Well, it turns out that said tale isn’t exactly over—not yet. The wedding date found me on Facebook and as if I’m not having a hard enough time trying to sort out my affections for two men (while simultaneously attempting to be honest and upfront with both of them), I’ve somehow agreed to introduce a third into the mix.