caught
As a single person, I’m prone to hate weddings. Now before you judge, hear me out. I don’t hate the weddings because they are celebrating the life of those being married; in fact, I love being a part of the momentous occasion. I hate weddings because of the end of the reception: the tossing of the bouquet.
I think it’s so strange how women have evolved. When I was a teenager, I always wanted to catch the bouquet, because it meant, that just maybe, I’d meet the man of my dreams. All of the older women would tell me about how the next wedding could be my own, or how I wouldn’t just be a bridesmaid anymore. Well, even though I’ve caught the bouquet a few times as a teenager, my knight in shining armor never appeared.
Even now, as I’ve caught the bouquet once recently (thanks to Marly’s trick of combining the one bouquet to split into three), there’s a few weddings that I’ll attend before my own, contrary to all of those wives tales. As a single woman, I hate the bouquet-tossing tradition, because I hate being a part of an incredibly small (and still dwindling) group that is brought to the attention of everyone else in the room. I don’t like everyone staring you down, or feeling the transparent pity they feel for those who are ‘single and alone.’
I hate how that feeling is protruded out for all to receive. Because, while I may be single, I’m not alone… or unhappy… or hoping to not only catch a bouquet, but maybe a single groomsman. I’m living my life. I’m doing what I want to do. I refuse to sit around and only hope for Mr. Right to drop in and save me from the ‘tragedy’ of the single life. Without an attachment, I can travel to D.C. on a whim, or New York City for a show. I can try new recipes and not worry if it’s horrible. Better yet, I alone have control of my TiVo remote.
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