I WAS A GUEST AT 12 WEDDINGS IN ONE YEAR
I was confident I didn’t have the wedding gene, and that was okay with me—until my boyfriend and I were invited to 12 weddings in one year. As the stack of gilded save-the-date cards, handmade invitations and even a Facebook request rolled in, I became mired in a subway-stop-missing analysis of why EVERYONE WAS GETTING MARRIED BUT ME. I began dreading every shower, bachelorette and dress fitting where I’d have to face friends and family, convinced they were wondering the same thing.
After the first wedding, where a tipsy guest smashed a glass at the feet of the gracious bride before yelling at her in the middle of the dance floor, I had a reassuring moment of calm: This definitely wasn’t my scene. But at Wedding #2, a nextlevel gorgeous week on the Mayan Riviera, I caught myself tearing up at even the least sentimental moments of the ceremony (like the groom hilariously screwing up his vows as “I promise to service you”) and feeling less assured about not wanting a wedding myself.
Mere hours after flying back to Toronto (I think I still had sand between my toes), we were off to Wedding #3. I felt ragged and something dangerously close to resentment toward all the blissful brides who were so certain of their futures. I still couldn’t picture myself at the centre of any of these events—not the moonlit beach bash or the ritzy hotel banquet. What did this say about my relationship?
But by Wedding #4, something shifted—blame just the right amount of champagne and Pharrell’s “Happy”—and I started having fun. I realized none of these events felt like a fit for my guy and me because, duh, they weren’t about us. They were perfect for the couples they celebrated, and our life is perfect for us, no matter what type of wedding—if any—we decide to have.