I’ve been a bridesmaid in 12 weddings so far this year with no end in sight. I’m emotionally exhausted from always being on the side of the pictures, but never in the middle. Is it so terrible that I just want my day to come already? When will it finally be my turn to walk down the aisle, basket of flowers in hand, tuxedoed toddler by my side?
When will someone get down on both knees and ask me to be their flower girl?
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved weddings—the music, the flowers, the dresses, everything was so exciting and special. But my favorite part has always been the moment when everyone turns to the back of the church and smiles at that one special girl, the girl who everyone is there to celebrate—the adorable flower girl. As she processes down the aisle, stopping occasionally to toss flower petals to the ground or wipe her dripping nose, she is the object of affection of everyone in the room. As I accept my gift, drink endless free booze, and make eyes at another cute groomsman, I stare at her flat-shoed glory and seethe with envy.
At 37 years old, I realize I am older than most flower girls. Everyone’s obsessed with youth these days. Even my own mother looked me right in the eye and said, “Who would want you for a flower girl? You’re too old. They’ll just pick a younger girl.” That one hurt. But don’t count me out just yet! I haven’t given up on the hope that one day it will be my turn to walk down that aisle, scattering rose petals delicately, like the lady showed me. My turn to dance the chicken dance at the reception, my feet atop those of an elderly grandfather type throughout the entire song. My turn to change into PJs halfway through the reception because I’m getting my dress all dirty. My turn to fall asleep in my cake toward the end of the reception because it’s way past my bedtime, as other guests look on adoringly and snap a few photographs for the family album.
So don’t you worry about me! I’m going to be just fine. Before you know it, it’ll be my day in the sun at last. Sure, I haven’t met the precocious young ring bearer who will accompany me down the aisle just yet. But I know he’s out there. And you know what? When I meet him, I’ll know, because he’ll be holding a tiny pillow with rings on it.