Each time an invitation to a wedding arrives in the mail with my name on it, I find myself checking the invite to be sure it was meant to be delivered to me.
I’m not what you would call the quiet, and discerning wedding guest, crossed legged at my table, sipping my wine. I mean, I want to be, and fully intend to be when I show up dressed to the nines wearing heels in which I cuddled with the night before, because – Oh. My. God. They are beautiful. It’s just things go awry; my emotions take over while I celebrate the love in the room.
Also, I am an emotional burning hot mess. Which would be okay in the confines of my home, or, well, honestly it’s really not one of my best qualities.
Weddings unfailingly make me cry; I think it’s the pure beauty of the moment, the ardent honest-love, enthusiastic and willing to begin life anew. There is a hard picked emotion deep inside of me that believes wholeheartedly in genuine love and what better way to celebrate it than watching two young lovers faithfully vow their devotion to each other until death. Also, an open bar helps. winks
As the ceremony starts, you may find me in the back row, drinking a flask full of emotion killer, sobbing uncontrollably. I ordinarily hide it well, my tears of wedding day love tucked away carefully behind sips of red wine and quick conversations with each wonderfully put together guest. But it isn’t always the case, there are times I have been heard gasping for air, at the most inopportune moment.
Weddings and I have had some notoriously awkward moments.
After I handle the ceremony with poise and grace, which is code for, I was late and had to rush to my seat immediately before the bride walked down the aisle. You can usually find me at the bar standing next to the pastor cussing like a sailor as I order my
first third cocktail. If you’ve never been in this situation, I will say, it is an incredible conversation opener. Customarily, one that ends with me spilling my not-so-triumphant life story and collecting the email address to a church counseling group.
I truly try to keep my shit together, but my loving heart and unfiltered thoughts often find me in conversations deeper than most on the receiving end are prepared to hear. And at a wedding, I’m already primed with the emotional instability of a toddler left with a babysitter for the first time. Causing friends and family members of the Bride and Groom to shoot pointed looks of dismay to one another. I may have at times heard them whisper “Who is she with?”
Once I find my designated seat, more often than not, at the back of the reception hall with the other guests the bride and groom want to keep in check. You can find me chatting up Grandma; I promise it’s not my intent to be the asshole doing shots over in the corner with her, it just happens. She said she liked tequila, how was I supposed to know it turns her into a grooving machine on the dance floor later.
As the bride and groom enter the hall, I feel my excitement mount, if I haven’t already made a fool of myself during the ceremony with tears and unkempt sobs, the speeches are about to turn me into an untamed river of emotion. With each heartfelt speech, my love of all things LOVE overcomes any rational thought. I suddenly feel like Leo in the movie Titanic but instead of shouting I’m the king of the world, I want to shout out irrelevant prose of love from my seat at the back of the hall. I don’t, but have been known to clap loudly and cheer out of turn.
Once the speeches finish, and the MC announces dinner, this is when I take the time to mingle with the other guests, or as I like to call it, work the room. To be fair I have some time, sitting at the unruly guest’s table typically means your meal is the last to be called. Besides Grandma and I have hit it off, I have now learned almost everything I need to know about the Groom’s Uncle and his fascinating love of water Buffalo. And you wondered why I gave her the tequila.
With love in the air, and the Bride and Groom now enjoying their first dance, more tears, and emotional heart-play work me over. To witness the newly married couple dancing to their song has me furiously snapping photos with my phone, and thinking about the beauty of their affection for one another. Obviously, I need to drown my emotions at the open bar.
Once the floor has cleared of family, this is when you will find me by myself dancing to the cheesiest of wedding songs. I will most definitely have stolen the mic from the DJ to sing along. Eventually to find him trying to recover it from my grasp around five to twenty times. The dance floor is where the magic happens. Where I somehow, step on two to three bridesmaids dresses while in the throes of dancing to YMCA. But I kill the hand signals. From this moment on, I will not leave the dance floor until dragged from it, even though those gorgeous heels I cuddled with, are now causing blood to pour from my toes.
By the time the night is almost over, I have given myself whiplash because, Def Leppard came on, and um if you don’t head-bang while making the peace sign, you’re not doing it right. My once beautiful hair is now an unwieldy mess, and I have somehow spent fifty dollars at an open bar.
This is how I wedding, and no matter how hard I try to wedding differently, it never seems to work.
Now maybe you understand why I carefully look at the invitation to make sure it was supposed to be sent to me.