What a day. Yet my chance to shine is still to come.
Grandpa Albert is dozing in the corner, as he has been since finishing his third slice of wedding cake, an hour ago. The cousins are drunk, the hopeless romantics are drunk, and even Grandma Bernice is a bit tipsy. She found a friend in the champagne as something to console her frustration with Albert’s lack of lively presence.
The pronouncement of man and wife occurred hours ago, when the sunlight still nurtured my well being and flaunted my fuchsia. The reception has been long and undoubtedly giddy, but I have unfortunately been forced to watch the days’ exciting events unfold from a spare, lackluster vase perched in the hands of the wedding planner’s assistant. I guess she is rewarding my remarkable patience with her undying protection, as whenever a girl approaches me, my guard turns a cold shoulder, flashes the evil eye and pulls me closer to her chest.
Anticipation and exhilaration mounts in me as I sense the reception coming to an end. Yes. YES! The bride is making her way towards me! At long last my moment of fame is approaching! As planned, my guard does not turn her shoulder this time, but jubilantly pulls me out of my hindering vase and carefully hands me to the bride. Indeed, it is a sad parting from my loyal guard, but I feel equipped for what lays ahead of me. The bride tenderly grasps my stems and ties a lovely pink ribbon around them, holding me together. What a nice lady. He’s a lucky man.
She climbs the stage, me in her hand, and all the ladies in the room obligingly congregate in front of the stage. The dying energy in the room has taken a turn and the air feels animated and alive again. Even Grandpa Albert showed signs of life as he snorted and a long dribble of drool escaped his mouth. The ladies drew into an ever tighter pack, shoving each other for the most central spot below the stage. All eyes were on me. Oh what a chick magnet I am!
The bride turns her back to the eager crowd of women (the men look apprehensively through their drunken eyes in the shadows of the room, beer in hand). Before I know it, I leave her delicate hands and I’m flying through the air, turning over and over, approaching the mob of women. What a sight. By the looks of their greedy, over-eager faces, one would’ve thought I was a stack of a billion dollars. With what seemed to be a thousand arms outstretched to get a hand on me, unthinkable joy mounted in me. I had never felt so wanted before.
My flight turned downward. I felt a hand close firmly around stems. I looked into my winner’s eyes. She was rather piggy looking, but one happy pig at that. I was her golden ticket. She began to prance around in circles, holding me proudly above her head. A mob of horrified ladies surrounded me and my piggy winner. In a split second I had turned from a billion dollars into the girl cheating with their boyfriends.
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1 comment:
Hilarious! Very well written. You have a talent for writing. Are you planning to take creative writing, KTR, or yearbook next year? I suggest you do.
I would make sure to include the same tossing of the flowers in your second story. What does the bride think about the flowers, if she thinks about them at all?
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