Post-wedding blues: My tell all experience

By on September 13, 2013


By: Nicole Rashotte

A few weekends ago, I attended my first wedding in a few years (I like to keep them to a bi-yearly maximum…although as more of my friends have begun shacking up with partners, I have a feeling that this routine will become harder to maintain over the next few years). My mom’s best friend’s daughter (and the girl I grew up with) got hitched and I was graciously invited to the nuptials. Due to some extenuating circumstances, I flew solo to the event – despite being given plus one.

Being single for the past…well, we won’t get into how long it’s been…but for the past while, I am no stranger to going alone to most functions. The unfortunate part of the situation was that the wedding party thought I was arriving avec quelqu’un and it created a slightly awkward situation once reception time rolled around (tripping over my 4-inch heels and being knocked out and rendered unconscious would have been my version of winning the lottery in that particular moment in time)…but more on that later.

I was invited to a wedding and to a wedding I went. Now I am not anti-wedding by any means – I plan on having one someday (hold your laughter) but when you are the one attending a wedding you want the ceremony to be short and sweet, because all the good stuff happens at the reception. Thankfully, this wedding did not disappoint in terms of “no time wasted at the actual ceremony.” We were in and out in under an hour, with the nuptials themselves lasting just under 30 minutes. This left a few solid hours to hang with my ‘rents over BBQ and beers, sans feet-torturing heels, before heading to the dinner and dance.

Once we arrived at the reception, I confirmed what I had felt for some time – I am in fact the last single person in the world. I vowed not to let this realization affect me in any way since I had my parents, a few old “friends” from high school and alcohol. Plenty and plenty of free alcohol. After the cocktail portion of the night ended, it was time to find our seats and enjoy some grub. So far, things were going well. It appeared that the bride and groom were still together (you never know when someone may pull a Kim Karadashian), I had a solid buzz going on and I managed to make myself sound like a happy, successful and completely flourishing individual to people I hadn’t seen in 10 years. Once I had fully sussed out the situation at hand (translation – figured out which guys were single so that I could get drunk and creepishly stare at them without making a move of any kind because I was with my parents, and more realistically, due to pure laziness) I felt at ease to take a deep breath and just enjoy the evening.

Unfortunately, the universe has an unspoken grudge against me and was not content to let me blissfully enjoy a night of free booze and celebration. On the way to viewing the seating chart, a woman I remembered from when I was still in the single digits, walked over to my parents and I and said, “Hey Judy – I think you and Cliff are sitting with us (turns and looks at me) I don’t know where you are sitting”. Come-a-effing-gain? As I not so softly said “f-ck me” to myself while being scolded by my mother over inappropriate language, I made my way over to the chart. At table 14 sat my parents. At table 5 sat three married couples and “Nicole Rashotte and Guest.” Since I hadn’t yet drunk enough to induce death by alcohol poisoning, the situation I was finding myself in seemed far too bleak. I turned to my parents like a six-year old who had been told that Santa Clause did not exist. There was a fear in my eye that not even the Boogie Man could evoke. I needed some parental comforting and I needed it fast. Luckily for me, my parents turned to me and proceeded to laugh. Yes, laugh. This whole other level of singleness that I was experiencing was apparently quite enjoyable for them – a real laugh riot. I shot my parents the kind of look that had the potential to kill and firmly said, “This is NOT funny.” Then, like many six-year old’s before me, I promptly stomped away to my own personal hell at table 5.

As I took my seat with six strangers, everyone stopped their conversation to stare at me until I introduced myself. In typical awkward ‘Nicole’ fashion, I introduced myself to everyone and then pointed to the empty chair beside me and said “and this is my date.” Naturally, this comment was met with blank stares, confused blinking and forced smiles. I over-compensated the lack of laughter with my own hardy chuckle before excusing myself and walking as fast as my 4-inch heels could take me, over to my parents.

At this point, I lost any desire to not come across as desperate and begged my mom to release my father from their table and let him sit with me in hell. I mean, my mom knew everyone she was sitting with, while I knew no one and just introduced a chair as my date. My mother is a gem and my dad just wanted to eat so she graciously let him fill the literal void beside me.

In an equally awkward move on my part, I did not introduce my dad as my dad. I let him introduce himself as Cliff, which resulted in everyone thinking that we were a couple for the majority of the night. Sadly, I was more OK with people thinking I was dating my father than being alone at the couple’s table. At this point, all I was thinking was how lost I would be without the love of my parents. As the night progressed, I had fully accepted the situation at hand and was making friends with the group of individuals at my table (there is nothing quite as bonding as waiting for the bottles of wine at the tables to finally empty so that the bar would reopen) and getting in some quality time with the rents. A

ll was good and then Rod Stewart totally screwed me. As I sat there laughing and joking and deliriously enjoying beer and pizza (my second meal of the night) Rod Stewart’s Have I Told You Lately That I Love You came on and everyone bolted to the dance floor at an alarming rate. In mere milliseconds it was just me, 5 empty chairs and two slices of pizza. I looked around and briefly locked eyes with the impressively attractive young man at the table next to mine and then replayed our earlier conversation in my head: the one where he told me that he had just completed his first year of university. The one where I realized I was getting flirty eyes with someone that was almost 10 years younger than myself.

I looked back at my pizza and decided that it was best to ignore the flash of ill-advised thoughts I was having and fill my current void the best way that myself, and most woman, know how – with food. Before I knew it, the dance music was back on and I had my new friends and parents back. Nicole 1 – Rod Stewart – 0.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *