the Damn Bouquet Toss

Not that I like to announce it, but I'm 29. I don't really like being 29, but it is what it is. Being 29 means a few things;

1. I'm almost 30. Which is old.
2. I've been to a lot of weddings. A lot.
3. If I ever get married, my wedding will be the best one ever because I know what is awesome and what isn't. (AND because Pinterest exists now and it didn't back in the day when most of my friends were getting married.)
4. I've had to participate in 500 000 bouquet tosses.

This is what I want to talk to you about today. The Bouquet toss. And how it sucks. I hate it. I hate it so much that I'm pretty sure that it's invention was a collaboration between Hitler, Ceaucescu, Stalin and Satan.

The flower toss is cute, when you are 14 and the thought of catching the bouquet means you will find your prince charming by the time you are 18 and live happily ever after. But when you are pushing 30 - It really just means that you are an old maid and everyone gets to point and laugh at the single girls whose only hope of finding a man is the pathetic notion that catching some freaking flowers will get her one.

And so, over the past few years I have come up with a few tried and true methods to avoid the shame of having to catch a bouquet of flowers.

1. Go to the bathroom.
2. Wear a fake engagement ring.
3. MC the wedding and hold the post down by the podium. ("I'm sorry, I need to make sure that the sound for Beyonce's 'Single Ladies' is playing")

On the few rare occasions that I haven't been able to avoid the flower toss, I strategically place my 5'4 frame behind a passle of super tall girls. The one time that it got past them and came flying for my face, I took a step to the right and smirked as the flowers landed on the floor directly beside me. (Take that flowers! I don't want you!)

I was at a wedding this weekend, and as the MC I was pretty stoked that I would get to hold down my post behind the podium and avoid participating in the damn bouquet toss. Yes. I used a swear and wasted a sin to use an inappropriate adjective to describe what I feel is emotional torture.

No such luck.

As I called out that the toss was starting, I looked around and noticed that other than me, there was NOT ONE SINGLE SINGLE GIRL IN THE ROOM. Not one. Not even one. I rounded up some of the little girls to participate and then held my ground behind the podium. But do you think the bride would stand for that? Noooooooo. She called me out, and I kid you not, made me walk all the way across the room and stand - the only adult - in a passle of little girls.

Here are the words I would use to describe the longest 60 seconds of my life: mortified, depressed, angry, bitter, sad, embarrassed, awkward, frustrated.

Yup. Me and 8 little girls. Awesome.

And obviously the bride pointed me out Babe Ruth style before turning her back and tossing the bouquet RIGHT. AT. ME.

Which I caught, and then promptly dropped.



Dear Future Husband,
There, I finally caught the damn boquet. Now get your act together and find me.
Sincerely,
Nikki