She was sitting on her couch yesterday, casually flipping back and forth between Cupcake Wars and Catfish when she felt it. It was June 1, the sun was starting to peak out from behind the clouds, and somewhere a sales girl was finishing steaming out a Lilly Pulitzer dress to put it in a display window. If all of the recent columns here weren’t any indication, this was the sign. She knew it in her bones: it’s officially wedding season.
Now, she’s on alert, sucking down unsweetened iced coffee in an effort to be skinnier than Amber at the upcoming events. She is scouring Anthropologies everywhere for the perfect blush dress that makes her tan look just right but isn’t too close to white because she doesn’t want to be “that girl.” Will it have feathers because she’s fun and fashion forward? Maybe. Will it make her the star of every Instagram with the hashtag #kellyanddave2015? Absolutely.
But while making Amber feel bad about herself for only going to barre class three times a week instead of five is part of the reason she’s only going to have a bite of the small gluten-free pizza, the main reason is she’s looking for some action at that wedding. And we aren’t talking drunkenly-making-out-in-the-alley-with-the-caterer-because-he-bummed-her-a-menthol action. No no no. She’s going big and going home. Sure, her designated plus-one is her gay friend — he looks great in seersucker and can rap all of “Super Bass” — but she’s not mad about it. It leaves her wide open to enter Flirt City, population: her.
But who to take a swing at? Who to sidle on up next to at the open bar, pass a shot of tequila, and wink at while throwing hers back? Journey is bumpin’, the tea lights in the mason jars are twinkling, and the time is right to find someone to take back to the Hilton.
Let’s look at her potential options:
The Best Man
Bold choice, honey. If the best man isn’t the groom’s stable friend with a second kid on the way, he’s probably the party boy sneaking everyone in the kitchen to do pulls of moonshine out of a flask. He’s the fun one. After all, it was his responsibility to take the crew to Vegas for the bachelor party, and he was the one making sure no one took any selfies with the dancer they hired “as a joke”.
They get rowdy. Wedding party is doing a round? Doesn’t matter that she wasn’t a bridesmaid, she’s right beside him toasting and drinking. “Time of your Life” starts being played by the DJ? They’re on that dance floor yelling “Nobody puts baby in the corner!” at each other while totally screwing up the lift. It’s honestly a blast.
But then the bride catches wind that they hooked up and suddenly, our girl’s phone is BLOWING up about “how excited she is that they’re a thing!!” Suddenly she’s being invited on double dates she didn’t even know she was asked to be on.
“We should all try that fun, new brunch place on 15th! I heard the goat cheese scramble is AMAZING.”
“Are you two free for grilling on Saturday? I’m going to make kabobs.”
“Dave and I are thinking about doing a poker night every month. Interested?”
She was interested in some no-strings, hotel sex around 1:30 a.m., maybe with a repeat at 10. Not to have to crowd around a four top, split avocado toast, and reminisce about how wild it was when Grandma drank too much rosé at the wedding.
The Cousin at Table Seven
She spots him while she goes back for a second specialty cupcake. He’s not talking to anyone, screwing around with his phone, and has at least four Bud Lights in front of him. He’s obviously bored and just wants to get drunk. Perfect.
So that’s exactly what they do. They throw back Fireball and beers until they’re sloppily making out in the hotel elevator. It’s not the greatest, not the worst, but definitely not something she’s ever intending on doing again. Her hangover is so brutal the next day, she can’t even bear the thought of heading home without several pints of water and at least two stops at Jack in the Box on her drive.
Fast forward eight-or-so months from now when she’s at the former bride’s baby shower, and she hears it from the kitchen while she’s quickly signing the card she’d originally forgotten to buy:
“She totally did my cousin at the wedding and tried to pretend like it didn’t happen.”
Well, good to know she’s now made herself the subject of gossip at family functions.
Groomsmen Number Four
Not close enough to be the best man, not too distant of a relative or friend to be assigned some bullshit job like “gift attendant.” This could be promising.
He’s cute and seems fun because he’s the one suggesting “jumping shots” to the photographer, and windmill high-fives her when she opens a beer bottle without an opener. It seems a little high school that he keeps putting his tie on her, but whatever — it’s a wedding, so what’s the harm?
Her visions of reenacting the treehouse scene from The Last Kiss quickly dissipate when she realizes –too little, too late, I may add — that he is full-on in the middle of a blackout before the bouquet has even been tossed. She tries to lose him and just go back to her hotel room to eat cake in bed alone, but she’s already made the mistake of telling him her room number. He bangs on the door slurring her name until she lets him in, ends up puking all over the bathroom, and doesn’t ever answer her Venmo request for the extra cleaning fee.
Why not? For old time’s sake if for nothing else. Our girl is a sucker for leftover crabcakes and a good story..
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