Not hooking up at a wedding

All that talk of “forever” can be an aphrodisiac, but sometimes it’s better to walk away than to run toward the easy option.

When I was in my late 20s, I attended dozens of weddings. I was perennially single, and despite my optimism and a rainbow of BCBG cocktail dresses, there were never any potential partners among the guests. Except for once: At a beautiful ballroom wedding in Toronto, I was seated at a table beside a lone, tall, tanned bachelor. We got to know each other over a six-course meal and slow danced the night away while my girlfriends cheered me on. It felt like we had been together for years. But then things took a turn for the worse. When I asked Prince Charming where he was staying that night (he was from a nearby town), he looked down at me adoringly with his piercing blue eyes

and said, “Your place.” He explained that he hadn’t booked a hotel because he was banking on meeting someone to go home with. He wasn’t kidding. I bristled, but he persisted. By then I was not just crushed; I was pissed. As I watched my friends enjoy one of the most magical nights of their lives, we stood on the balcony and yelled at each other. I stormed off; he sulked—our romance had begun and ended in less than six hours. I stumbled into a cab alone and exhausted, but I was comforted knowing that I had likely sidestepped a land mine of heartbreak. God knows where he ended up staying—but when I realized that I didn’t care, I slept better that night than I had in ages.