Como burra al trigo ('Like a donkey to wheat" I guess it doesn't translate so well, unless you grew up in Nebraska or something, surrounded by farms. I also think of donkeys eating corn or... grass... not really wheat, but hey, I didn't come up with the saying), I stomp on over to what hurts me:
I have agreed to bridesmaid duty... again.
I will have 14 bridesmaid dresses after this... 14! (Fuck "27 Dresses." My shit is real!)
I collect those babies like an avid wedding aficionado.
But in all reality, I'm usually quite upset by the end of the night... which eventually turns to rage when that all-knowing/probably already drunk asshole comes by and tries to cheer me up with that stupid line:
It's OK, one day... you'll find your other half.
Get the fuck out of here.
Wanna know why I'm sitting here, alone at the corner table, with this death-grip on the closest sharp object?
-This dress.
It's unbelievably overpriced and ill-fitting. I wouldn't wear it in a Pretty in Pink re-make. Thanks for forcing me to rock it for 14 hours.
-The music selection.
Please, just take me to the circus next time... at least I might see a monkey in a cute little outfit doing a much better job holding down a beat.
-The photos.
OMG! The photos! No, don't worry, my face only starts to hurt after 24 hours of fake-smiling. Crows-feet? Nah, they don't scare me.
-The older people giving me life advice.
Oh God! That's always nice! I'm always game to be told how to turn myself into a better catch for a dude from Hometown. Sorry I got that degree, by the way... I know it now lowers my chances of getting snagged by someone from Hometown... I mean, who the hell wants a smart girl? I'm sorry I liked science and inadvertently turned into a nerd. My bad.
Did I mention this fucking dress is retarded?!
Oh, and that line dancing.
Awesome. Keep it up. Really. I love it. Reminds me of that color-by-numbers thing we had in kindergarten, used to teach us how to color AND count... only now you're learning to "dance" and count. You guys don't look handicapped at all! Yes, that's right... keep clapping each time you get the step right. You Clap to your little heart's content! It's cool, I'll just sit here and ponder whether or not my ear canal will pose much resistance to this fork in my hand.
But... whatever. I'll let them keep thinking I'm devastated over my loneliness each time I'm forced to see the newly-wed couple slow dance to Shania Twain's "Still the One," even when it's for the fifth time that night.
I'll put up with this because-- zero sarcasm-- I sincerely love them.
Let's make some memories, people!
And two things totally off-topic:
1. "Porky Piggin' it" ?? Wow. If you do this, I want to meet you... but when you're not Porky Piggin' it. Why?! Why not just walk around completely naked? You little trickster, you.
2. I'm not usually into songs as repetitive as "The Only Exception" by Paramour... but that song is so fucking sad and relatable. I hate myself for loving it.
Guess what people are going to hear next time they see me...
"You... are... the only exception. You... Are"
And I'll try my hardest to make meaningful eye-contact the whole time... while holding a daisy near my face.
Yeah... No.
Oh, and a third: My overuse of ellipses is just reflective of the way I talk. Yes, I really do make that many... pauses... in my speech. Deal with it. I'm deep. Or just slow.
No comments:
Post a Comment