Let’s see now. When we last left off in our soap opera story, Young Ready Freddy had invited
And S went.
Yes. I went. I suppose, looking back, I just wanted to . . . see him get married . . . see him go through with it . . . see that door slam shut once and for all.
I found an inconspicuous seat in the rear of the church, away from the proverbial aisle they would be walking down. It was a nice ceremony, measured solely by the fact that I kept my emotions in check, and remained wholly anonymous. Piece of wedding cake, S!
Of course, I had no plans to attend the reception – that would have been folly. I was no fool, um . . . except that I had not really thought the whole thing through.
Consider I had not been to many weddings; so I had forgotten one important tradition -- the reception line. This one was at the back of the church. Oops!
There would be no sneaking out, slipping out a side door, slinking away, saving face. Oh no. I would have to face them -- both. And . . . I would have plenty of time to panic.
The ushers painstakingly dismissed the wedding-goers row by row starting at the front of the church. The hourglass was rapidly covering me in quicksand. At last, it was my turn in line and I congratulated them cordially. I was just seconds and steps from my getaway, safely unscathed, at least outwardly, then . . .
. . . no S, no, no more . . . no, no, no.
Yes, dear friends, yes. Sand continually sifts, you see, and sometimes it gets kicked in your face before you sink completely.
Freddy’s mom, standing on the opposite side of him from his bride, gives me a tight embrace and whispers “I wish it were you.” She did not just say what I thought she said! Did she?
Yes. Yes, she did. I hope no one else heard her; I was sorry I heard her. Slam! (Was that a door or my poor pitiful broken heart?)That was the comeuppance due me -- the ultimate requital -- the last line of the fable, just before the moral of the story about letting go, moving on and not being Stupid with a capital S, S!
And, also the moment I decided the reception line at my own wedding would not be at the church, but at the reception hall! Not that I’d be inviting any exes – not even any soon-divorced exes (surprise, surprise) - for whom I had a soft spot because they were my first love.
True story, I promise. This stuff does not only happen on soap operas. Oh no, like sands through the hourglass, so were the days of our lives.
Postscript: This post was in part encouraged by The Scrap Gals Podcast #53 – Capture the Laughter about documenting some of our most embarrassing moments. I confess to having written these posts, and then having contemplated not publishing them. But I was then given a serendipitous reminder and a nudge from Marie Osmond’s book We Might As Well Laugh About It Now. And in the case of this wedding fiasco – all I have to say is “I do.”
The most recent Scrapgals podcast is on Love Stories too.