My brother’s getting married tomorrow.
I could end today’s blog here and allow you readers to draw from a myriad of reasons how this one sentence affects my life in so many ways. But, I’m a responsible writer, so I will go on.
Yes, my brother’s getting married tomorrow. I’m in Toronto waiting on the wedding festivities to begin and enjoying the amazing, breezy weather! I’m close to my brother and couldn’t be happier for him. I’m sure the ceremony will be beautiful and I’m sure the reception will be fabulous. (They’re serving Marble Slab Ice Cream. Need I say more?)
But there is one thing I’m not looking forward to. You see, there are certain rituals and traditions I don’t necessarily like, but can deal with—like lingerie showers and assigned seating. But there is one wedding-ism that drives me b-a-n-a-n-a-s.
That dang bouquet toss.
It was one thing when I was 18 years old and they called all the single ladies to the dance floor. I’d run full speed, giggling with my fellow single friends. And when that bouquet was thrown, we’d wrestle each other to the ground to grab it—pining for the chance to be the next newlywed.
Now? That bouquet might as well be a plague of locusts. When I get a hunch that it’s even close to that time, I suddenly have to go to the bathroom… or save a puppy… or smoke a cigarette. And I don’t even smoke!
It’s not that I don’t want to be married. Trust me, if that bouquet truly carried with it the magical powers it would take to get me married off, I’d claw my way to the top of that brood of girls. But, alas, it’s just a bunch of flowers tied together with a bow.
What the bouquet toss does promise—and delivers without fail—is one large helping of embarrassment topped off with a dollop of ridicule. Remember, I’m not just single–I’m 30 and single. Standing in the spotlight with all eyes on me surrounded by 18-year-old Justin Bieber fans is a scene from my worst nightmare.
Still, it is my brother’s wedding and I do not plan to be a party pooper. If they call the single ladies to the dance floor, I suppose I’ll have to join. I’ll smile for the photos. And I’ll even place my hand in the air and try to catch the flowers.
That’s if I’m not busy helping an elderly woman cross the street, of course.