The Bouquet Is A Metaphor For Gray's Balls

So.

Gray was the best man in a wedding this weekend, and I was the self-appointed Task Mistress. I know that sounds totally dirty, but all it really meant was that I forced the bride and groom to CARE about timeliness and preparation. I know, it's like I was born to be the life of the party.

I mean really: what fun are weddings without schedules and forethought and...schedules?! No fun, that's how fun.

So, as self-appointed Task Mistress, my duty was to annoy everyone. It was like a dream come true for me. In fact, I'm gonna go ahead and take all of the credit for the blessed union. Without me, the lovely couple might never had made it to the altar. Scratch that, I bet they never would have MET had it not been for my future involvement in the placement of their tea lights at the reception. God works in mysterious ways, so if if He didn't already know I would be there this weekend to provide oil blotting papers for the bride, I bet neither of them would even have been born. God would have been like, "Meh...why even bother?"

So you're welcome, Bride and Groom, for giving you the gift of life.

Something unexpected happened at the reception Saturday night: I caught the bouquet. I know, right? Amazing that I didn't poke my own eye out in the process, although believe you me I would have poked grandma in the eye if I'd had to. I spent quite a bit of time in preparation for this feat, sizing up my opponents and contemplating strategy. (There was this one big chick I figured I'd need strategy to outmaneuver, but it turned out she was married to the black guy.) That bundle of roses was MINE, bitches!

Except when it came time for the bouquet toss, I realized that I was LITERALLY the only single woman at the wedding. There I was, standing in the middle of a gigantic ring of married, judging eyes, all of them taunting my singularity like the crowds in the Colosseum must have tormented the lion's next snack.

I could feel their pity. Poor single girl, those eyes said. Must be the nose. (no, really - actually had a convo that night about my nose and was told that yes, perhaps I SHOULD consider rhinoplasty. looks are important)((let that be a warning that if you fish for compliments, you might catch a burn instead)). I wanted to shout that I hadn't always been single. I'd been one of them once. But there was no time for explanations.

My head swam as I dove for those silk flowers like my life depended upon it. When I felt the bouquet him my hands, I raised them above my head in victory, flaunting my prize to the cheering crowd.

And then I did the most important thing: I gave Gray the look and said, "You know what this means, right?", to which he replied, "That I'm moving to Canada?"

Little did he know that it was his turn to catch the garter. At least he wasn't alone out there: another single guy battled him for the prize, but he'd been married twice already so I don't think he was trying very hard.

Gray was victorious. And also he's totally fucked.

There's just no fighting that kind of fate.