Solo Wedding Season

Wedding season is upon us, ladies and gentlemen. Not only is it amazing to watch two of your friends commit their love to one another, but it usually means dancing and a mashed potato bar. However, the worst part of weddings is filling out the RSVP card and the dreaded “and Guest” blank.

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“But why Meg? That’s not hard! Ask someone awesome and you’ll have a great time,” you say.

Whoa there, my friend, apparently you haven’t heard my history with wedding dates. The “and Guest” blank is the WORST. When I started attending weddings, I felt like I HAD to bring a guest—like it was an obligation. “People will think I’m sad and lonely. People will wonder why I couldn’t get a date. Whom will I dance with?”

So with this thought process in my head, I made it a point to always take a date. Here are a few examples of dates I’ve had (*names have been changed to protect the terrible):

1)   I took Thomas* to a wedding with the intention of dancing the night away. Instead, Thomas got a little too excited when he found the open bar and we didn’t dance once. Unless you count him swaying—to and from the bar.

2)   I was a bridesmaid and asked an old college buddy, Andrew*, to join me for the nuptial weekend in my hometown. Emphasis on the word “buddy.” I had absolutely no intention of dating this man and thought I made this extremely clear. Unfortunately, Andrew eventually expressed feelings for me and I had to shut it down immediately. Needless to say, that put a damper on the fun-filled weekend I was expecting.

3)   I went to an outdoor wedding with Anthony* in mid-August, in mid-day, in South Texas. Not only was it a sweaty hot mess, but Anthony was more focused on dancing with every bridesmaid than his date (ahem, me). Don’t worry, I found solace in ice cubes and sangria.

Now, not all of my experiences have been terrible, but the bad heavily out-weighed the awesome. With this in mind, I decided no more dates.

This past weekend I traveled to Virginia to attend the first wedding of the season: Will & Jen. A year and a half ago, I helped Will pick out an engagement ring for his girlfriend. I loved being a part of the process–I was near tears every time we walked into the jewelry store. I was so happy that Will was crazy about this beautiful woman.

With my new “no date” mantra in my head, I joined forces with my good friends, Kim and Liz, to make this the best wedding we have ever attended—and it was. The reception lasted for eight hours and it was AMAZING.

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I took a break from dancing and walked away from the tent to take in the view of the Virginia countryside. As fireflies glowed around me (oh how I miss Virginia fireflies) I inhaled deeply and was, all at once, perfectly content.

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This no date thing may be just what I needed. Don’t worry; I’ll let you know how it goes for the remaining weddings. Stay tuned.

A Little Long in the Tooth

Have you ever heard the expression, “Long in the Tooth?” I hadn’t until this week. Let me tell you about it:
But first, let me share a picture (Circa 1989) that makes my heart smile:

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I went to a local restaurant the other day. I was waiting on the bar tender and I started chatting with some older townies to pass the time. Here’s the convo after literally three minutes:

Old Townie: “…how old are you? I’ve got a 25 year-old son and I bet he’d love you.”

Me: “I’m 27,” I smiled and replied, confidently.


Old, rude Townie: “Oh…well, I think you’re a little long in the tooth for my son.”

Me: I didn’t get it. “I’m what? I have big teeth?”

Old, rude Townie: “No. Just long in the tooth.”

Me: I looked to his buddies for some help. One of them replied, “I think that means you’re too old.”

I’ll let you use your imagination and guess what my reaction was. Choose:

a) Oh really? I missed the cut? Dang itttttt. What if I get botox? What if I can guarantee to act like a 19 year-old? I’ll wear my Uggs with Nike shorts. Anything–I’ll do anything. PLEEEEASSEEEE.

b) ARE YOU SERIOUS?!? OH, SO TWO YEARS IS THE BREAKING POINT FOR COMPATIBILITY? 27 IS NOT OLD–YOU OLD, WRINKLED GEEZER. YOU SUCK *turn to his buddies* AND YOU ALL SUCK. **throw beer in his face, smash the glass on the floor, and walk out of the bar in triumph with my hands over-head and everyone clapping**

c) Oh. Ok. Well, it was nice chatting with you. Thanks for the insult and goodnight, boys.

Ok, the right answer was “c.” I got really flustered and just walked away.

Side note: Horse’s teeth grow with age so folks can make a rough estimate on how old one is by looking at their teeth–hence the phrase “Long in the Tooth.” Whatever. I hate horses.

Now, was I actually interested in this man’s son before he made the “too old” comment? Absolutely not. I’m not big on meeting men in bars (or calling their sons). But my pride was hurt. He cut me deep. Real deep.

I work with college students every day and I’m always joking about how old I am–but I don’t really feel that old. 27 is still young right? You’re only as old as you feel, right?

And I guess I’ve never really thought about age when dating someone. I’ve always been told there is the “Half-Plus-Seven-Rule.” You take your age, divide it by half and then add seven years and that’s the minimal acceptable age you can date. So 27..divided by two…plus 7…equals..20.5. Yeesh. Let’s round up to 21. Er, let’s round up more to 23? Whatever. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I’m over it.

When did dating get so complicated?

Here’s a picture of me as a kiddo to make me remember the good ol’ days: When age was a single-digit and the only man you cared about impressing was yer pop.

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Break-Up Shoes

Everyone has that thing. You know, that one thing you do after every break-up.  Your relationship with a significant other has ended and you resort to grasping for anything that gives you happiness.

I recently surveyed friends to see what their “thing” is. Some admit to needing both Chick-fil-A and Burger King–At the same time. Some consume entirely too much alcohol. Some stop eating. Some over eat. Some cry. Some jump for joy.

Chocolate. Sad songs. Angry songs. Burning photos. Breaking photos with glass for emphasis (that’s a good one). Girls’ night out. Guys’ night out.

De-friending on Facebook. Stalking on Facebook. Un-Tagging on Facebook. Yelling. Crying. Laughing. Etc, etc.

I’ve only had a few break-ups worth being sad over and none of the above ever got me through it.  However, there is one thing that makes me happy and always, always takes the bitter sting out of the end of a relationship: Shoes.

That’s right. Shoes. While some people eat pounds of chocolate or cry until their eyes can’t open, I buy shoes. I call them “My Break-Up Shoes.”

It all started my senior year of high school when I was head-over-heels for Sam* (*names have been changed to protect the innocent jerks). After five months, Sam* broke-up with me over AOL Instant Messenger. Yes, that really happened. Needless to say, I was devastated. But Momma Higg quickly came to the rescue with a pair of black Chuck Taylor’s merely hours after I received the Instant Message. (Sam* is married now…obviously he’s a keeper.)

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But just months after my heart was initially broken, another guy walked into my life who loved me and my Chucks. But that, too, ended in more Break-Up Shoes–just like the next and the next. I am the proud owner of four pairs of Break-Up Shoes. Yes, I still own each pair and wear them–except the Chucks (I’m not a hipster anymore).

There are rules for the Break-Up Shoes:

1) They must be purchased within 8 hours of the break-up.

2) They must be worn immediately.

3) They must be awesome.

It may not seem like much, but My Break-Up Shoes are a way of closing a chapter. Don’t get me wrong, money isn’t buying my happiness–money can’t do that.

Happiness comes from the friends who bring you pizza immediately after the break-up.  Who tell you stories and make you laugh while you purchase your Break-Up Shoes online through blurry eyes.  Who leave brownies on your doorstep.

My Shoes are just a way of making a terrible feeling, a little less terrible.  Even though I dwell on all the wrong things said and replay every moment in my head, at least I get compliments on my kicks, right?

I will always buy Break-Up Shoes until I no longer need break-up therapy. But, for the time being, I suppose these will do just fine 🙂

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