As I watch all of the bridesmaids dance and flirt with their adorable groomsmen, I can’t stifle a sigh. I’m not selfish, agreeing to be in this wedding had nothing to do with the fact that the groom has hot friends from every corner of the country. I did it for Becky, she is my best friend, and I’m the maid of honor. This seems like a special privilege. And it is, I guess. But when I was walking down the aisle with the groom’s overweight, greasy, obnoxious brother, somehow I didn’t feel all that special. Surviving the bridal party dance was a whole different story. His hands seemed to have magnets drawn to my south pole, if you know what I mean.
What it all comes down to is that I’m already bummed about losing Becky. She has been a different person ever since she got that ring on her finger. And I was hoping that the sorrow of this day could be drowned by a hot groomsman from out of town. Instead it’s amplified by a pudgy man with overactive oil glands. Just my luck.