my date with jack

Two weddings in the past month have led me to realize something. I hate weddings. I hate the bouquet, and the cutesy little place cards, and the fancy center pieces on each table, and the candle light accompanied by your standard variety disco mix and line dances that every DJ seems to have on stock for these occasions. Because when you get right down to it, weddings are strictly meant for couples. Married couples relive their own weddings. Engaged couples fantasize about their upcoming weddings. Even couples who are dating, despite the fact that they may have no intention of ever committing to their date, get caught up in the moment, swept away by all those swooning eyes being shot all around the room.

And when they called for all the single guys to come out and catch the garter belt, I could be found firmly entrenched at the bar, with my hands all over a nice smooth glass of Jack Daniels. I caught word that my cousin is very likely going to propose to his girlfriend soon, which will mean another wedding next year.

I have a hunch that, once again, Jack will be my date for the evening.