Love is the Air….With a Hint of Puke

What do I hate about summer more than humidity?

It’s wedding season!

 Vom. 

I’ve witnessed many friends’ marriages and subsequent nightmares unfold and cannot imagine myself getting married. Poor man. He’d have to pick me up from Stalking Horse every Saturday night. Can you still dance on bars when you're married? I’m just not ready to take that leap and living in this city is only aiding and abetting my bad habits.

Hilarity ensued during the past 5 or so weddings when all the single ladies begrudgingly dragged themselves to the dance floor at the DJs behest. When it comes time for the bouquet toss remember how all the girls would rush to the dance floor and dive, tackle, and claw their way to the flying floral omen of doom? 

At one particular wedding my brothers grabbed me by both arms, allowed to me chug the last of my wine and forced me into the huddle. The bouquet was released and….NOTHING. No one moved (except to get out of the way of the flowers), everyone just stared at each other and then stared at the floor as it lay there. Nothing. No one wanted to touch it.

(via)

So men, when you think you’re the only ones running to the bar and away from the altar, know that you can meet the Ladies of The Clam Jam there. We’ll probably beat you. Heck, we might even have a shot ready for you.

One day we’ll get married, but that day is not now. We’re still young and Mr./Dr./Lawyer Right has yet to present himself. We’re not those bitter non-brides…we’re actually quite content and happy for those who have gone before us.

Cheers. We'll drink to that, and maybe we'll learn from their mistakes.