So I went to a high school friend’s wedding last night. The typical cheesiness ensued. The toasts were long and boring, filled with supposed-to-be-funny anecdotes, how-the-bride-helped-me-make-the-biggest-decision-of-my-life: which-sorority-to-join, but…but they had that first dance and they had those looks.
I managed to make it through sorority sisters singing to the couple, off key, with only minor snickering; I got a free drink by reusing my drink ticket the bartender forgot to ask for; I mingled with strangers and made small talk without too many thoughts of escape. I did it. I did the wedding guest thing and it was exactly what I thought it would be.
But then they had their first dance and I got all gooey.
Where they really seemed to believe they were the only ones in the room, like all the movies tell you.
Where I wondered if their cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
I’m getting all sappy, sad, and happy at my table (4 glasses of wine in…or a bottle) just soaking in their moment.
Jealous of their moment, to be honest.
All of my best friends are the groomsmen. So I’m waiting for them to be free so we can dance, drink, ect. Our moment came and it was glorious. All jealousy and mild bitterness at the couple’s wonderful night turned into fist pumping and jumping around like children with my best friends.
It wasn’t cliche that we shouted to “Shout”, or dramatically screamed/acted out “Don’t Stop Believing”, it was perfect. It was one of those nights where you are reminded of why your best friends are your best friends. Because you don’t have to be anything but yourself around them. Sparkly shoes and a pretty dress couldn’t change who you are and won’t keep them from wanting to jump around wildly with you.
While I’m spazzing around thinking I look cool like Pat Benetar, I have one of those nice epiphanies that make you feel dumb. Clearly the bride and groom are those people to each other. She can be silly and he can be crazy. A pretty dress or sweat pants won’t change it.