The Wedding Chronicles: The Walk of Shame
I was utterly mystified by a question three days ago. I ran into a woman who knows my parents well and she enthusiastically began asking me about the wedding planning. She was also more than curious about our “entrance.” I was blank with connection. Of what “entrance” does she speak?
Stupidly, I inquired. “Oh!,” she squealed. “How are you going to come down the aisle?!” She was insane with anticipation and I was still at zero on understanding the subject of our conversation. What could possibly be the options for transporting oneself down an aisle? I assume I will use my god-given legs to stroll in a forward trajectory. Unless, of course, I blow out any more toes in yoga in which case I will ride my new Rascal scooter. Are there other choices?
“Oh, you know! People are doing these wonderful choreographed dance routines these days!” I finally clocked in. This woman is
a) all too familiar with my long history in musical theater
b) has been spending way too much time watching videos on Facebook
c) she remembers my moves from Zumba class.
The Hot Urologist says I look like I am performing a Broadway dance break during any form of physical activity. I thought his 4 year old son might be having some type of seizure episode in our home gym until I was informed that he was reenacting my step aerobics routine. Listen, I use my arms to burn extra calories. I see no problem if those arm motions take the form of a starburst.
Let me be clear, no one is going to Riverdance in this wedding. The Hot Urologist is in medicine for a reason, he does not have a future in Flamenco. Can I throw down some quality time stepping? Certainly. But I shan’t in a formal setting. And Diane would die if I performed at her wedding. She sat through The Sound of Music approximately one billion times for me and frankly, she is done.
I hate to be a murderer of dreams, but we will probably just walk down the aisle.
Unless teleportation becomes a thing before May and then obviously, we will do that.