August 30, 2012 by Manny Wordsmith
You get told by the bride-to-be, early.
She announces her wonderful news through a mass text. You smile, knowing that she’ll be marrying her best-friend and love of her life. You put your phone back down and continue to secretly watch Teen Wolf on MTV, while shoving handfuls of skittles into your scruffy face. A couple of commercial breaks later, you look down and notice that a gut somehow crept its way into your body.
“When did I get fat?” you think.
But instead of giving it more thought, you just roll your eyes and continue to watch Tyler Posey kick some pubescent ass.
Days pass, and you see that your friend’s Facebook page is still blowing up with congratulations. You smile once again, reading through some of the comments, liking the ones that stand-out, but ignoring the generic ones from the”fake friends”. You leave Facebook and head to Amazon to see what they’re charging for box sets of the television show Smallville. 200 bucks for the complete series doesn’t seem like too much. But that’s until you check your bank account.
“When did I become broke?” you think.
But you once again, without a second thought, roll your eyes, while simultaneously dodging the moths flying out of your computer screen.
Weeks pass, and you see your friend at another friend’s wedding. She glows with excitement, while showing off her ring to the other guests and friends. You give her a hug and remind her how excited you are about going to her wedding in a couple of months. She turns to you and says something that sounds like, “Make sure you bring a rake.” but you can’t be for sure. You shrug off her meaningless banter and continue to wait in line for more cake.
Months pass, and your shuffling through your mail, flipping over coupons and Comcast bills. In the mess, buried between your GQ mag and the Jet’s Pizza ad, you find an invitation. On the front, your friend’s name and address. You panic slightly, but crack open the invitation anyway. You scan past the pretty presentation and intricately chosen font to find one, heart-dropping question.
Are you bringing anyone?
“Shit,” you think.
You crack open your mental Roladex, blowing off the dust that built from months of inactivity. You start your half-ass assessment of the current women in your life, but only finger through the ones you’ve seen in the last year. It doesn’t take you long to figure out that most of the respectable women you’ve met in the last year either hate you, love you too much, or went ahead and got married themselves. But before you can thumb through the “desperate files”, you get a text from your friend that reads:
“I don’t want you to bring any strange to my wedding.”
You pretend like you don’t know what she means by it and continue down your dark road of secret booty calls and serial nutjobs. Every day the list gets more slim, up to the point where you try to decide whether your potential date’s prior indecent exposure charges will come up during dinner or after the Daddy Daughter Dance. You look at all the risks and realize that no form of damage control can save you from the hurricane of dysfunctional women you know.
On a lonely Thursday afternoon, you turn on “Wedding Crashers” and realize, “Hey, I don’t need a date! I can just be like Owen Wilson and ‘own’ that crowd!” Of course you graze over the fact that it’s only a movie and not real life. And that Owen Wilson’s character hated the lifestyle he got into. But the pressure! The pressure that was hardly put on you to find a date, will finally be lifted! And you can feel good knowing that getting drunk and coercing bridesmaids is much more honorable than bringing a potential ex-stripper as a date.
God, I love weddings.