Their celebration of love cemented by vows and tax forms played out a classy chorus under typically perfect Ventura county weather. I can't help but be proud of them, she a sweet girl impossibly matched and he made us forget what they were ever like apart. If marriage released its flagship model complete with Bluetooth, reverse camera and seat warmers, this was it. But amidst the fog of new nuptials, candid toasts and keg explosions I sat with my sister wondering what was next. As much as I want to take joy in the success of my friends and family, it's always painful leaving the plus one box empty on satin stationary.
In fact my answers are always the same, yes I'll be attending alone and pumped for the chicken. While buddies slap my back suggesting single bridesmaids can cure the blank space blues it's difficult to ignore the constant reminders of your relationship status. Relegated to the singles table we took the opportunity to catch up and bonded over our inability to share a funny honeymoon story prompted by table decorations. An hour later I was happy to see my sister dancing with the best man but I knew no amount of wine could move my feet with family watching.
Of course the pressure to marry is great when you walk past gowns and babies with a girlfriend on your arm. The tension can be like showing up to Indianapolis in a go cart with Pennzoil plastered to the side and the moment you yank the starter cord her dad's going to scan the crowd for a proper suitor. But my sympathy is with the lonely who have no opportunity to fail. A wedding may be their chance to wine and dance the groom's sister into a stupor but at the end of the night she still lives in Phoenix and you're not sure grandma's introduction qualifies as "Our Story" material.
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