I’m pretty sure I’ve been to at least twenty weddings over the past few months. But not as a guest. Oh, no.
I’ve not actually been a guest at a single wedding this year.
I work at a local vineyard on the weekends, and they do weddings. Lots and lots of weddings. So I’ve seen quite a few while I was working.
I think that being close enough to spot the bride and groom counts as attendance.
I’m going to see another wedding today.
The difference is that I actually know these people. I’m still not invited, because I haven’t seen them since high school, but I could potentially run into lots of people who know me.
Normally, I’d be excited about this.
But I know these people from the dark ages known as “high school,” where I was a completely different person.
It feels like these people know some sort of hideous secret about me because they’ve seen me in my awkward stages of life. And I know that if I see them, my impulse will be to regress to that awkward, uncertain person I was when I knew them.
Oh, the shackles of the past. Maybe I’ll get lucky and no one will recognize me.