Always the bridesmaid
At traditional weddings, the bride throws out the bouquet to a group of single women during the reception, and it is said that the woman who catches the bouquet is destined to be the next bride to walk down the aisle.
Each and every one of the other women wants the bouquet, but admits to defeat to the one who with the longest arms, or best reach. In the end, they feign happiness to the bitch that caught it with the whorish clothes and make-up, bad dye job, halitosis and a snaggle-tooth.
What women don’t realize is those pretty flowers aren’t about the promise of marriage, but the promise of possibilities and opportunities.
Being a man, I have never been in the bouquet toss, but I know what it feels like to have the promise of something coming towards me, while some unworthy opponent seizes it from my hands like the fucking jaws of life.
On more than one occasion, I have been runner-up to friends and others, beauty and talent, job opportunities and promotions, and height.
It is bothersome watching people who don’t do anything special to deserve much, have these things thrust at them. And, since they’re nonchalant about it all (they have to be since they already have it all), they just sigh and brush it off as if it happens everyday… which it does.
Smug bastards.
Coming in second sucks and sucks the life out of you.
You never get to wear the pretty white dress and tiara. There is no special treatment for you on the special day. And, no one tells you how beautiful you look even though they’re pretending not to notice you’re five months pregnant.
Instead you get to wear the fugly dress with all the pink ruffles and layers of tulle that make you look like two dozen ballerinas exploded all over you at a cake shop. And you get treated like shit because your skin is blemish free (due to the lack of pregnancy hormone fluctuations), your hair is perfect, and don’t need three seamstresses sewing you into something that is four sizes too small.
Fuck. Am I being punished?
I am always a bridesmaid and never a bride.
Note: Happy 34th, G.
Each and every one of the other women wants the bouquet, but admits to defeat to the one who with the longest arms, or best reach. In the end, they feign happiness to the bitch that caught it with the whorish clothes and make-up, bad dye job, halitosis and a snaggle-tooth.
What women don’t realize is those pretty flowers aren’t about the promise of marriage, but the promise of possibilities and opportunities.
Being a man, I have never been in the bouquet toss, but I know what it feels like to have the promise of something coming towards me, while some unworthy opponent seizes it from my hands like the fucking jaws of life.
On more than one occasion, I have been runner-up to friends and others, beauty and talent, job opportunities and promotions, and height.
It is bothersome watching people who don’t do anything special to deserve much, have these things thrust at them. And, since they’re nonchalant about it all (they have to be since they already have it all), they just sigh and brush it off as if it happens everyday… which it does.
Smug bastards.
Coming in second sucks and sucks the life out of you.
You never get to wear the pretty white dress and tiara. There is no special treatment for you on the special day. And, no one tells you how beautiful you look even though they’re pretending not to notice you’re five months pregnant.
Instead you get to wear the fugly dress with all the pink ruffles and layers of tulle that make you look like two dozen ballerinas exploded all over you at a cake shop. And you get treated like shit because your skin is blemish free (due to the lack of pregnancy hormone fluctuations), your hair is perfect, and don’t need three seamstresses sewing you into something that is four sizes too small.
Fuck. Am I being punished?
I am always a bridesmaid and never a bride.
Note: Happy 34th, G.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
6 Comments:
No matter what anybody can do, there is always someone who can outdo you. That's what I've learned. (I suppose this wouldn't apply to say, Lance Armstrong)
Here's a trick - surround yourself with dullards, and then maybe you'll be the shining one that everyone envies.
I might just have to marry you for your "34th" shout-out. How kind of you to choose that number. It will be your turn for the white dress and the tiara.
We must run in the same circles and go to the same weddings. I'll tell you what. At the next one, I'll tackle the bitch who always gets the bouquet so that you can grab it. I'm too old to get pregnant anyway! and it would be nice to see one of "us" wear the tiara.
Torn: The sad part of it is I've been around "dullards" (a.k.a. idiots) and they are lauded for their ineptitude!
Glenn: Thanks, but I don't want to get married.
Lemuel: Sorry, I'll only get married for $$.
Initially, I should've stated this post was about being passed over for something you feel you rightly deserve.
I understand your point and have been there many times myself. Just to clarify. I guess my comments were meant to carry the [wedding] image further and to say in an offhanded way that, if I could, I'd run "interference" for you so that you could get what it was you were passed over for. It's pretty much too late for me, but, damn, I'd love to see those usually passed over get the goods for once. Sorry, if that did not come through and you thought I was really referring to weddings or something like that.
You'll be a bride sometday. Great blog. Will add you to my links. Thanks for your email.
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