We started the class by going around the room, introducing our partners. Each person also had to say how he or she knew that his or her partner was “the one.” The instructor (let’s call him Doc) called on me first, and I said that the Mister is the one for me because I feel safe with him, and he makes me feel both happy and content. The Mister was next, and I was sincerely afraid that he would respond the way he had in our preliminary, personal meeting with Doc a few weeks before. In that meeting, Doc asked us to describe our excitement at getting married. The Mister stumbled around for 90 seconds using a lot of words without ever saying anything a la Miss Teen South Carolina.
(For the YouTube video of Miss SC's meltdown, click here.) The Mister might as well have said, “I’m excited about marrying Jules because I want to be a veterinarian to help people.” It. Was. Brilliant. (In the Mister’s defense, he is usually well-spoken, when he is not crazy uncomfortable sharing his feelings with random people he doesn’t know at all.)
Instead of an unintelligible answer, the Mister said something lovely – that he knows I am the one because I make life beautiful for him. Seven other couples said other nice things about each other, and then the last pair spoke. The Mister and I are friends with the prospective groom in that pair, but we don’t know the bride-to-be at all. She’s a peppy lady with an open expression and an agreeable personality. He said she’s the one because of a gut feeling he has, deep down inside. Good answer. She replied that he’s the one, because he’s smart. And intelligent. And imaginative. And handsome. And . . . here’s where I wish I could stop time and use a magic eraser to obliterate about ten seconds. In the midst of her list of his wonderful attributes, I leaned over the side of the table and made a barfing sound.
Everyone stared at me in all my discourteous glory, but I couldn’t really see the horrified looks on their faces because I was very busy obsessing about when we would take a break from the class so I could apologize to her. A bazillion times. In the split second that I was teasing my friend (the groom) about the list of his lovely qualities, I forgot that my joke invalidated his partner’s lovely comments (and hurt her feelings in the process).
I apologized, of course. And did some reflecting. I’m starting to realize that this wedding stress does weird things to a girl. I’m interrupting meetings at work (which essentially means, “I think whatever I have to say is waaaay more important than what you have to say”), but I’m cross whenever someone interrupts me. Who is this boorish woman? And when will she go away? Any thoughts on how to get back to being myself? I miss me.
Instead of an unintelligible answer, the Mister said something lovely – that he knows I am the one because I make life beautiful for him. Seven other couples said other nice things about each other, and then the last pair spoke. The Mister and I are friends with the prospective groom in that pair, but we don’t know the bride-to-be at all. She’s a peppy lady with an open expression and an agreeable personality. He said she’s the one because of a gut feeling he has, deep down inside. Good answer. She replied that he’s the one, because he’s smart. And intelligent. And imaginative. And handsome. And . . . here’s where I wish I could stop time and use a magic eraser to obliterate about ten seconds. In the midst of her list of his wonderful attributes, I leaned over the side of the table and made a barfing sound.
Everyone stared at me in all my discourteous glory, but I couldn’t really see the horrified looks on their faces because I was very busy obsessing about when we would take a break from the class so I could apologize to her. A bazillion times. In the split second that I was teasing my friend (the groom) about the list of his lovely qualities, I forgot that my joke invalidated his partner’s lovely comments (and hurt her feelings in the process).
I apologized, of course. And did some reflecting. I’m starting to realize that this wedding stress does weird things to a girl. I’m interrupting meetings at work (which essentially means, “I think whatever I have to say is waaaay more important than what you have to say”), but I’m cross whenever someone interrupts me. Who is this boorish woman? And when will she go away? Any thoughts on how to get back to being myself? I miss me.
1 comment:
hahahahahahahahaha
I still think it was a funny gesture, but I would.
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