Last night my sweet friend Susan married a really great man. They're the real deal. Met at church, dated over a year, sought out a lot of counsel, have never slept together. It was a beautiful, hopeful event. Good, good people. Joy everywhere.
I didn't know anyone attending the wedding, so Susan took mercy on me and asked Randy to invite a single (hot!) co-worker. The night played itself out as usual. I was sitting at a table alone. My friend's brother's father-in-law joined me, flirted with me, and was my dance companion for the night. The single protestant men my age hugged the wall, terrified of the dance floor.
There's nothing like being around strangers who are uncomfortable dancing to make me lose my inhibitions. I requested Sweet Child of Mine, danced like a fool, and did my fake version of swing with the nice man 20 years older than I am.
I also discovered being guest book attendant is a great gig. I got listed in the program, received a thank you gift, got a corsage, didn't have to pose for photos but still got a nice corsage. And I got to wear a cute black dress instead of the ugly, purple satin ones the bridesmaids got stuck with.
The wedding made me want to break up with Greg and date a protestant more than ever. Until, again, the protestants refused to dance. Jesus wouldn't have been happy. He talks about playing music while folks crossed their arms and refused to celebrate. Was Jesus actually a happy catholic with the wine and the dance moves and loud celebrations?
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