elevation

So it was finally upon me, the wedding of the year. The swishy lovely dress I'd bought to wear months ago, suddenly seemed super green. I needn't have worried though, the hue was much admired.
I think attending a wedding by yourself, as a singleton, has to rank as one of the crappiest things about being single. Along with, of course, vacations, grocery shopping, sunny days, the park and overly long Sundays.
Last night, I felt like the chick who caused attached women to pull their better halves closer to them as I walked by. I made them feel either insecure that I would sway their partners gazes, or secure in the fact that they had someone to go home with.
On the dancefloor, being spun around ineptly, by the tall french man, I found I was better off dancing by myself, for myself. And certainly less nauseous.
My friends looked like a golden couple of the 1940s. No longer the stressed and harried Londoners, but movie stars in the south of France, schmoozing the crowd. It was a transformation and lovely to watch.
I kindof floated around all night, until I got sick of it, and left, very drunk, before I turned into a pumpkin at midnight. Wait, that was the carriage...wasn't it? Still, its how I felt. Those who know me, know I could never be a maid anyway....