The Wedding

Thirty minutes after I put on my brand new pair of dress pumps (black satin sling backs with a fake, silvery jewel accent on the straps), my feet started to hurt. The heel was just a little bit higher than I am used to wearing, causing my feet to slide forward, jamming my toes into the pointy tip. I don't know how other women do this on a daily basis. Wearing heels higher than 1.5 inches is so unnatural not to mention uncomfortable. But I decided to tough it out because, as Billy Crystal's Fernando Lamas says, it is better to look good than to feel good. And look good I did in my wispy long, black evening skirt worn with a sparkly black, square necked blouse. I didn't feel as put together as I would have liked because I didn't have time to wash and curl my hair so I twisted my limp mane into a bun and secured it with jeweled chopsticks. Not my best look but it would have to do.

The ballroom where the wedding and reception were held is located in one of downtown's most historic locations. The trey ceilings boasted intricate moldings and supported several large, crystal chandeliers. Huge columns adorned in gold fleur de leaf flanked the wedding area while shimmering champagne-hued drapery hung between the columns serving as a visual wall and creating a chapel-like atmosphere.

Although the setting was gorgeous, the seating was very uncomfortable. The small, dainty chairs were crammed so close together that my shoulders frequently rubbed against my neighbor and the tightly constructed rows ensured that my knees stayed planted in the backside of the woman in front of me for the duration of the ceremony.

The large collection of bridesmaids looked elegant as they paraded down the aisle one by one. Their chocolate satin gowns complimented the decor of the ballroom perfectly. The bride wore an antique white strapless dress that fit snugly along the bodice and hips before gradually flaring out into a short, chapel-length train.

The bride and groom, although unmistakably happy, were not overly sentimental. They recited their vows without any difficulty or visible signs of emotion. The wedding itself was short and sweet. There was no singing or music to draw out the ceremony. Almost as soon as the wedding started, it was over.

After the procession, guests were asked to wait on the mezzanine while the wedding area was transformed back into a ballroom filled with tables draped in crisp white linens and dotted with red rose petals. Those same uncomfortable chairs from the wedding were also used for the reception and I stared at them longingly from above as my feet began to swell and throb with pain.

Forty-five minutes, 3 million pictures and one huge helping of shrimp dip later, we were finally allowed back into the ballroom where guests quickly formed lines to consume the extremely mediocre (and expensive) hors d'oeuvres.

As I sat at my table and watched the bride and groom perform their obviously choreographed first dance, I couldn't help but wonder what The Boyfriend's and my wedding might be like. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to finally have our lives joined together permanently. I daydreamed about our first dance and how I would rather do the funky chicken and the robot than pay to learn some stuffy dance moves that we would never use again. I fantasized about us engaging in the social busyness that a reception requires while occasionally catching each other's eye across the room and exchanging knowing glances in anticipation of our wedding night, the culmination of the day's activities.

Unfortunately, my daydreams will have to go unfulfilled for a while. The Boyfriend and I have vowed to move slowly. Not until this time next year will we reevaluate our relationship and determine for sure which direction we want to go in. In spite of our slow, deliberate pace, weddings and the subsequent girly dreams they inspire often team up with my growing hatred of long distances to create an impatience that sometimes overwhelms me.