I could feel my face start scrunching up and that damned ever-increasing frown line deepen just a bit more.  A twinkle brought my eye to my wrist, a smooth silver bracelet dangling from it, a locket with a snowflake engraved face staring back at me.  I smile down at my little fail-safe in any awkward party situation when someone decides to lay it on too thick.  You’ll see why….

By the time I found the courage to look back up I’m wishing I hadn’t in response to the more awkward set of eyes looking at me.  Seems that 1 1/2 has been talking.  Specifically, the not-so-smooth contender next to him that’s hanging on every word coming from his pompous mouth.  Everything about this seemed to be screaming at me to flee to my side of the wedding party and stay there.  Before I could, the duo made a direct line to the buffet I was at, my previous conquest already calling towards me.  It’s too late.  Eye contact has been made.  I’m stuck.  1 1/2 introduced his friend as Daniel, a Wal Street broker visiting from New York for the holidays and to come to their buddy’s funer-umm, wedding.  He was an attractive guy.  Good cologne, nice navy Armani suit with pale green dress shirt….Until I noticed the three strikes.  I might have been able to excuse the fact that when I noticed him staring at my chest, he didn’t look away.  It was almost forgiveable that the ceremony had hardly been over five minutes and he already had his tie and coat over his arm.  There was one thing I couldn’t let pass….the absolutely x-rated way he winked at me in the same way that the gold band on his left hand did. Strike 3.

I can’t go into too much detail, but I will tell you a bit.  Point one, at times, you have to deeply thank your friends for being accomodating and having their wedding at a hotel.  That warranted the extra fifty-spot I slipped into her wedding card right before I left.  Second, that the hotel bedposts hold strong even to the tightest knots possibly done with bedsheets alone, even against struggling.  They’ve even thickened the walls of the rooms!  Lastly, that I thought ahead far enough to have worn the pair of Manolos that allows for running at the kind of breakneck speed that was needed to make it back to the reception in time to not catch the bouqet, dodge “still single” jokes, give kisses to the bride and get one more drnik before stopping to think too much.  Is this all there is?  Grow up, fix your face to someone else’s standards, birth kids, and game over?  Or, is there something more?  Just when I though it was time to window shop Brooke’s remaining bachelors, my phone interrupted the dark solitude, the cold title of “Editor” flashing across the screen of my unsilenced Black Berry.  Just in time.  I was starting to think that my next step was birth children.