Hello-
This story came to me during a wedding I'd recently attended. It was my cousin's and it was very religious so, there was zero drinking or dancing (seriously, WTF). Anyways, I'm the type who likes to get turnt at familial weddings because my family is sometimes hard to deal with, so, here's how I'd hoped it happened but, from a different perspective, i.e. if I was single and if the groomsmen were actually nice to look at. Of course, none of this went down and is pure fantasy. Hopefully, enjoy!
~E
P.S. I plan on going to law school (hopefully soon-ish) so that's why a lot of my characters are related to some form of further education/ legal expertise. So, sue me.
*****
God, this wedding was awful.
Sure, the ceremony was lovely, what with the choked up bride and groom (standard, right?) and the wedding colors were dull. Shades of purple and cream. Come on. The groomsmen were dressed dapper style, which was kind of cute but played out and the bridesmaids were practically covered from head to toe. Only the skin on their faces, necks, and hands was showing. Their over-the-top bouquets rivaled that of the bride's and what bridesmaid wears fucking white?
I tried not to roll my eyes as the officiant/ preacher came across a passage of how "wives need to submit to their husbands". I snorted and earned a disapproving glance from my father. I only shrugged. Sure, I'd "submit" if only under ropes and bondages.
I guess I should be a little more appropriate; this was, after all, my cousin. One of my closest ones at that, too. We'd practically grown up together, a year apart with him being the elder of us. At twenty-four, I was still unwed and not bred. The only one in my family so far. I sighed and sat forward a little bit more.
A groomsman, with honey eyes and black hair that fell to his shoulders, looked across the pews at me. I caught my breath because let's just say this man was beautiful. That's right. B-e-auuutiful.
He had a strong jaw, nose, and luscious lips, along with a thick neck that had some sort of creature snaking its way up his throat. He sported two silver rings in his right eyebrow and his ears were stretched somewhat. He smiled and revealed almost perfectly straight teeth though they were white and that's when I realized: I had been staring at him. Blushing, I turned away and hid my face, feigning I was wiping tears away. When, in all reality, I was not.
I was happy for my cousin but was perturbed because he had converted for his fiancé. Which didn't bode well for my family. I wasn't super religious and didn't care but why become a Pentecostal?
I don't know; it was weird considering this was the guy who would be at clubs all weekend long and get drunk, have one night stands, and try to hit up my friends. I guessed he repented and now was living the holy life. I didn't give a single flying-
"You may now kiss the bride!"
Oh, thank the lord. I clapped along with everyone else and smiled when the photographer caught me scowling. We all stood up and watched the happy couple walk down the aisle to the lobby of the church. It was a nice church, if I was into that sort of stuff, and was rather large, which was kind of pointless but whatever.
After taking the designated pictures and embracing only the family I knew, it was time to let go. However, my hopes were dampened when we found out that the reception would be taking place in the next room. Still in the goddamned church.
Well, maybe there would be
some
dancing but once we made our way to the other room where the reception would be held, I wanted to roll my eyes.
Circular tables with cheap white linen were thrown over the tops along with little decorative pieces of "Love, Life, & Laughter" and the like littered the free spaces on top with fake flowers and various colors of sparkly beads. Tea candles were lit and provided a little glow with the setting of the sun outside the tall windows. It was all so... simple.
And too girly. For my tastes. The tables were all so close together that there was hardly any room to move around let alone dance.
Whenever I get married. No,
if
I ever get married, I wanted a dark wedding, something more on the Baroque/ Gothic style. Reds and creams and blacks, tall candelabras, outdoor beneath a large tree glittered with fairy lights and hanging red roses... but this wasn't my wedding, right? Who was I to judge how someone wanted to decorate their "big day"?
Whatever.
I waited my turn in line at the half ass buffet, watching as old ladies with sky-high buns dished out cold food. I smirked when they eyed me, my makeup no doubt making them shriek on the inside. Of course, a smoky eye rimmed in nothing but black to help my hazel eyes pop would probably freak the nearest religious nut out. They kind of seemed like a red-brown color but with a little bit of green thrown into the mixture so it was kind of strange looking.
Didn't help matters that I was wearing a loose black tank (that was appropriate for the ceremony thank you) tucked into a flowy blue maxi skirt. My sandals padded along the tiled flooring after I had my plate made and I checked out the drinks. Hmm, no alcohol. How disappointing.
I wanted to cry.
Sucking it up, I sat down next to my father who was wildly telling my uncle some story about fishing or other. I rolled my eyes and started to eat the standard baked chicken. At least the mashed potatoes were good if not the best thing on my plate. I shrugged and ate everything within a few minutes, not even halfway full.
Now, I know I was beginning to sound like I was ungrateful but come on. This wedding was sad. Not only was the food tasteless but the reception was boring.
And I wasn't the only one feeling this way either as I glanced around at my family and some of my cousin's friends. They were all picking at their food, head in their hands as they carried on boring conversations. I mean, there wasn't even actual music other than a few boys plucking strings on instruments they probably couldn't even pronounce.
"Excuse me," I muttered and stood up, taking my empty plate with me.
Thankfully I drove myself and I could leave whenever I wanted to, claiming I was tired or needed to head home. But I didn't. I was trying to be polite.
I tossed my plate into a nearby trash can and, out of pure boredom, headed straight for the restroom. It was on the other end of the church and wasn't at all crowded which was fine by me in that all of the guests were in the lobby or in the reception area.
Once there, I checked my reflection and touched up my makeup whenever a posh, Pentecostal woman exited one of the stalls. She gave me a dirty look as she washed her hands, watching the way I reapplied my brown lipstick and powdered my nose. I smiled sweetly at her and tousled my short blonde waves. I nodded to her when she left the bathroom.
Okay, rude much?
