Charming, but single

I’ve finally had time to sufficiently rest from and process Best Friend Ever’s wedding this weekend. I’d expected to be sad and sniffly that the woman I’ve so often commiserated with was leaving me all alone in my singleness. And aside from a few tears upon seeing her glide down the aisle, all glamorous and beaming in an ivory gown with the biggest bridal bouquet that I ever did see (and a giggle when her veil got caught on her tiara when her parents tried to remove it), I didn’t feel heartbroken or alone or sad.

I felt a mixture of excitement and relief for my friend. And that’s me being completely, brutally honest – and this may make me a bad person, but I really did think I’d be cynical and bitter, not because I don’t want her to be happy, but because of my own jealously.

I surprised myself, I really did. Because it was ultimately uplifting and reassuring to know that her husband is caring and committed and loving and funny and interesting and warm. I know her past exploits and I wasn’t lying when, after a few cocktails, I danced with him and said, “We really are so happy for you and we know that you’re the right man for her and we all know that she got her a catch.”

Don’t get me wrong – I’m so terribly jealous that my two best buds from high school are married and that my rock from college is engaged. I want what they have. I want the lightness in my step, the gleam in my eye and the arm around my waist. But I don’t resent them for their happiness like I used to. Maybe it is the New Year and growing older and coming to terms with any number of things about myself, but I don’t blame anyone else for me being lonely right now.

But back to her wedding.

At some point in her perfect planning, she just threw up her hands and said, “All that matters is that I’m married at the end of the day.” And this pleased her and calmed her frantic planning and things fell into place and those things that didn’t really didn’t matter anyway.

And I hobbled down the aisle in my cast boot with a groomsman who, ironically, also had a bum foot from surgery. We all danced the night away, I may (ok, I did) give alcohol to a very underage boy who promised me he was 21 and Best Friend Ever’s younger brother, who at age 18 is a freshman in college, looked at me during a dance in a curious tone and said, “You know, I’ve heard some stories about you. I’ve always thought you were her wild friend.”

I half expected him to end the sentence with “Mrs. Robinson.”

I just smiled, narrowed my eyes, motioned to a fellow bridesmaid and high school classmate and said, “If you want wild, dear, you go talk to her.”

Seriously, people, you do not want me to be your bridesmaid. I promise.

My bridesmaid dress? Was a touch tight. And I was walking out the door to have a seam or two taken out and talking to my mom and she suggested, brilliantly, that I call back Massive Chain Bridal Store to see if they had one size larger.

I told her this never would happen, that the dress was discontinued when I ordered it, that they simply didn’t have the size I’d originally wanted. But I called them anyway and wouldn’t you know they had the larger size at one store in California.

With shipping, both dresses cost less than one at full price. And after some mix ups with the shipping, the dress arrived Friday evening and I tried it on Saturday morning.

And it was too big.

Not a little bit too big. Like much too big. I wondered if wearing the too tight dress was a better option. The dress seemed much more than one size bigger. The neckline drooped low, the halter straps were five or six inches too long, the hem pooled on the floor and the back of the dress stuck out almost two inches away from my back.

Thankfully, my mom is an expert seamstress. She fixed the halter, which pulled the neckline and hemline up correctly. Then she reached under the arms and tucked each side in about two inches and sewed it down. The bodice fit perfectly and though the fabric puffed a little under the arms, she ordered me to keep my arms down during the ceremony.

Crisis averted, right?

Wrong.

A few weeks ago I rolled my ankle while grocery shopping. I slipped and caught myself and my ankle was swollen for a few days. I’d assumed I could walk off this minor injury. I iced the ankle. I elevated the ankle. I took Aleve. I wore flats.

To no avail. My ankle and calf hurt all the way from the weekend before Christmas to the present. Worried that I’d cracked a bone – I once cracked four main bones in my right foot and walked on it for days, so I know this is possible – I opted to visit a doctor.

And wouldn’t you know, it isn’t broken. It is terribly sprained, necessitating a big black cast boot. (That very thankfully comes off.)

The Bride took the news very well. I am scoping out silver ballet flats to wear instead of my silver and rhinestone strappy sandals. And thankfully the dress has a huge skirt and the boot shouldn’t be visible.

The good news: Instead of being The Single Bridesmaid or The Pudgy Bridesmaid, I will now be The Hobbling Bridesmaid, which I can handle.

To The Best (Gonna Get Hitched) College Roommate Ever –

I am just tickled pink to be writing this letter to you, tears and all. Because I love you so much that it is hard sometimes to be so far away. Especially now, when you’re newly engaged and I just want to give you weepy hugs and coo over your ring in person.

If you would have told me back in, say, 2000, that I would one day be giddily clicking through pages on TheKnot.com and suggesting dress colors for your wedding, well, I would have called you nuts. I remember meeting you through work at college – you were wearing a red boatneck shirt from Old Navy.  And I know that sounds creepy that I remember that, but the thing is that I owned that shirt and wore it all of the time and you’re one of about six people on earth who would appreciate that I even noticed that.

You seemed standoffish and I was as loud as ever. We weren’t friends at first because I mistook your shyness for snobiness. But one night, for whatever reason, we went out together. My first night at what at once became my favorite college bar, where’d we eventually chug too many beers, down too many shots, make numerous ill-advised decisions.

You were fun and beautiful and friendly in smaller groups on more comfortable terms. We quickly bonded over shared past heartaches and hurts that I don’t have to list out – you know what I mean and that’s all that matters. We were both wounded and though we should have perhaps reached for less self-destructive escapes, we were relatively socially inseparable for those last few years in college. And though we are quite different – you embraced your inner pink years ago and I’m only recently acknowledging mind – our relationship worked. I have a bond with you that I share with no one else, and for better or for worse I know that for some feelings, some sadness, only you will truly understand.

I haven’t always been the best friend and I wasn’t the best roommate. Money was tight, I am emotional and our group of guys and girls and booze hardly made for the most settled lifestyle. Also, I always used to forget that we didn’t have a garbage disposal and I never cleaned the kitchen and I don’t know how many eggplant peels you fished out of the sink during my vegetarian days.

But you’ve loved me in spite of that and I adore your patience. I miss playing hermit together while watching “Sex and the City” marathons and eating Chinese food, how you’d tease me because I used to yell “Bam!” while I cooked alongside Emeril on TV and groaning over the first season of the terrible MTV reality show “Sorority Life” while we gagged and ordered the other to “Make it a double, Sweetie.” I miss road trips to football games, comparing notes on men, lounging on Sunday nights in the apartment complex hot tub and taking care of each other when one of us was heartbroken, or inebriated or grumpy. You comfort me better than anyone else I know and really deserve a place in heaven for putting up with me when I was at my most heartbroken yet.

Because I know the ups and downs you’ve endured in your life, how beautiful your heart is and how shockingly talented you are, I’ve waited for so long for a man who looked at you with adoration, excitement and recognition of your value. That is what I see in your future husband’s eyes. And I love him for it. He treats you like an equal, but spoils you when he can. He is supportive and respectful of your sensitive side and nature. A class act all around, as worthy of your companionship and love as you are his.

Things will not always be easy, but you know that. If you’re even half as committed to and patient with him as you’ve been with me, well, you’re destined to a lifelong marriage and I’ll just have to live with the fact that I have competition in the best friend category.

Love,

Your Charming (and Emotional) Maid of Honor

P.S. There is still time to appoint someone else as your Maid of Honor, given my near-miss on the last bridesmaid dress I was charged with ordering. Should you proceed with me in the Maid of Honor role, I promise to order the dress the second you given me the go ahead. For real.

The truth is I’ve been a bit grumpy lately. It’s the holidays and I’ve been busy. Work. Shopping. A weekend trip out of town for Best Friend Ever’s bachelorette party. (Side note: I felt much like country mouse gone to the city. Where I’m from “bottle service” means Budweiser, Miller or Coors.) Missing my dear out-of-town friends. Not seeing enough of my in-town ones.

And my birthday, which was today, was kind of an afterthought. Sure I’ve made some plans to celebrate with friends and family. While I traditionally enjoy being showered with attention for My Day and those closest to me certainly wished me well and made me feel special and so unbelievably lucky to be surrounded by warmth and kindness, I haven’t been able to shake this sense of melancholy.

So I’ve reached out and refused to be a shut in. And slowly, the feeling is fading.

Renewing my faith in myself and working to pinpoint what is bringing me down, well, that may take a bit longer.

At least by this age – 28 – I know myself well enough to acknowledge my moodiness, which I’m sure is a first step of some kind.

Weekend birthday plans? Check. Christmas plans? Check. New Year’s Plans? Double check.

There’s nothing like anticipating good times to motivate you to dust yourself off, slap on a pair of heels and pass a good time, ya hear?

So The Bride (aka Best Friend Ever) and I were chatting the other night about getting into the Wedding Home Stretch. Though she’s had a snag or two, she seems relatively calm and ready. I’ve been busily making preparations of my own for her upcoming nuptials, as they are six(ish) weeks away.

The done:

• Purchased plane ticket for upcoming bachelorette party
• Arranged transport with Maid of Honor from airport to The Bride’s house for weekend of said party
• Purchased dress (remember how fun THAT was?)
• Scheduled pre-Christmas eyebrow waxing
• Arranged hotel stay for wedding (will bunk with fellow bridesmaid First College Roommate)
• Gained approval for days off from work for wedding festivities
• Solved dry skin dilemma (I’m sure I’m jinxing myself, but I’ve been using Nivea Body Essentially Enriched lotion for “very dry, rough skin,” because we all know how I am about my elbows, and I am impressed.)
• Located dress for Rehearsal Dinner (opted to wear Christmas party dress, as wedding is in January)
• Scheduled hair appointment for the Wedding Day (fine, The Bride did that for us)
• Google Mapped the hotel and reception locale
• Grumbled each time I see the promos for “27 Dresses” (fine, it looks cute and I know I’ll see it because Katherine Heigl is my new girl crush)
• Attended one shower
• Purchased one shower gift

The undone:

• Scheduled pre-wedding eyebrow waxing and mani/pedi
• Purchased plane ticket for wedding (plans hinge on a family member)
• Determined how to get a floor-length gown to fit into luggage suitable to be carried onto a plane without crushing and/or wrinkling said dress into oblivion, because after all I went though to get it, the damn thing is NOT getting checked so that the airline can lose it)
• Purchased silver shoes for wedding
• Assessed the bra situation with said dress (must make crucial halter v. strapless decision)
• Purchased wedding present
• Purchased gag gifts for bachelorette party
• Returned RSVP card
• Purchased teeth whitening strips for pre-wedding smile touch-up
• Planned post-reception Wedding Party drinking extravaganza
• Located lost digital camera

The not happening:

• Finding a date for the wedding
• Coming to terms with the fact that this all is really happening

I’m sure I’m forgetting something that is very important that I’ll remember as I step onto the plane. Isn’t that how it goes?

There is one thing that I am dreading, putting off, probably never going to do. I am unsure how the toasts are working for the Rehearsal Dinner. I need to talk to the Maid of Honor about her plans, as it is improper for a bridesmaid to outdo the maid of honor. That, of course, is merely an excuse. I have no reason to believe that there is any problem with me offering a toast at the dinner.

I just don’t know what to say or how to put it or what words are right. And this is made more frustrating by the fact that I write, well, all of the time. By the fact that I am professional writer of things for other people to say. By the fact that, oh dear, The Bride often comments that “[Charming], you just have a way of putting things.”

Truth be told, there are a million things to say to the woman who most gets you on the occasion of her marriage. For the life of me, I can’t narrow it down to just one. And my eyes well up at the thought of it, so I’m putting this off until the end, or maybe not at all.

I have this inkling that in the moment, standing there with glass raised, I will pause and look at my best friend, sitting next to her future husband, surrounded by our friends and their families and the words will just come the way  the tears do now.