Being from an extremely small town in Georgia, my friends and I have been hit with the “wedding and baby” phase a little earlier than the general population. While most people don’t have to worry with the quarter life crisis of seeing virtually everyone they know getting hitched and popping one out until their late twenties, I’m much less fortunate. I’ve attended three weddings in the past eight months, and each bride taking the plunge was my age, and much like the long winter, weddings are coming. There’s no slowing down from here. This sort of FOMO would hit most of girls like a ton of bricks, except for the fact that I’m twenty.
Yes. You read that correctly.
These happy couples were willingly swapping eternal vows of devotion and they can’t buy their own alcohol or rent a hotel room? How are you going on the honeymoon? Is your mom tagging along to check you guys in? Are you taking your fakes with you? These are the questions I can’t help thinking as you and your twelve bridesmaids walk down the aisle.
But I’m not here to harp on the issues with getting married young. No, there are bigger fish to fry. We need to talk about a much more pressing issue: the dry wedding.
To preface this, I acknowledge that my usual squad and I drink. A lot. I’d like to pretend that we keep it within the acceptable Thursday-Saturday range, but mama said it’s wrong to lie. We go to a big school, we have an amazing downtown scene, and when life gives you lemons, you make the most out of Tequila Tuesdays and Wine Wednesdays.
I also recognize that there are plenty of people who choose not to partake in the devil’s water. That’s fine, I’m all for people choosing to live whatever lifestyle they choose, but if you’re going to invite me back to the motherland, place me in a room with those girls that I avoided like the plague in high school, and subject me to hours of my aunt asking me “why I don’t have a beau yet”, I better be able to do it clutching a glass of Cabernet.
Naturally, after hearing through the grapevine that the most recent shindig was going to be bone dry, my friends and I came prepared. Three flasks of vodka and a cooler of beer in the back of the car was sure to keep table 14 at bay. I don’t need it. You don’t need shoes to run, but it makes it a hell of a lot easier. Those of us who chose to prepare were cutting a rug and having a great time while the rest of the guests sat and clapped along at their respective tables, or left right after the cake was cut. I’m no statistician, but I think I see a correlation here.
You all need to get off your high horses. Having a dry wedding is like Ron Swanson only serving meat dishes at his wedding: it’s obvious, it’s annoying, and it makes you look like you’re trying too hard. Don’t want your wedding guests sloppy? Limit it to white wine and beer. Don’t wanna pay for it? Make it a cash bar.
If, at the end of the day, you still insist on having a dry wedding, don’t give me and my crew the side eye when you see the flasks come out. Lighten up. Have a drink..
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Typical bitch. Lover of red wine. Perfecter of the side eye. I play Broadway show tunes out loud in the gym. My brunch order is Chicken & Waffles.
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