What happens when you crash a wedding in cowboy boots

Sometimes, you’re sitting at home on a Saturday night, minding your own business and eating homemade pumpkin ice cream and listening to depressing music, when you receive numerous texts coercing you to “come to this cowboy themed wedding right now”.  You may politely decline, with words such as “I will not crash the wedding of someone I don’t know so I can be the creepy girl hitting on all the cowboys; my life hasn’t reached that low point yet.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But then, as you look in the mirror at your fat, lonely ass stuffing itself with heavy whipping cream, you get to thinking, “What do I have to lose”? Certainly not dignity, at this point.

You very well may next throw on your cowboy boots and paint your face in record time and make your way to the wedding site, held at the only appropriate place one could imagine for a western themed wedding: the Carriage Museum. (Those exist? you may wonder. Why yes, yes they certainly do, in all their gun-slinging, horse drawn glory). Upon arriving you may realize that the wedding is over and only family and drunk stragglers remain, so you quickly try to conform to the latter by finding a bottle of champagne and downing it; meanwhile, you’ll probably have to try to avoid the creepy ginger who keeps telling you that there is no more fireball whiskey, but he has “two fireballs for you, if you know what I mean.”

You’ll then take your cue to leave and drag your friend downtown with you because you did not put on cowboy boots and crash a wedding  for the night to end like this, but she’ll complain the whole time that she’s tired and try to pawn you off on a very short Mexican immigrant in a vest. After an unsuccessful tour of a few more bars you’ll finally give in and say you’ll go home, but she is going to insist on stopping for macaroni and cheese at the ONE establishment in town that you don’t want to go into, due to recent involvements with the purveyor of the mac’n’cheese.

You might think it a great idea to send her in to place the order while standing inconspicuously outside; you will fail to remember, however, that your teal dress and cowboy boots don’t camouflage well against a white-wash wall and suddenly the Mac’n’Cheese Man is saying hi and asking what you’re doing out here and you are so stunned and embarrassed that you blurt out that you’re hiding from him, albeit unsuccessfully. You’ll hum and ha and mumble unintelligible things, try to explain your outfit with “I crashed a wedding, that’s why I’m wearing cowboy boots”, give an awkward side hug, and be on your way, realizing that any shred of dignity you may have had left is now gone, long gone.

There’s a good chance you’ll run into some other friends on the way to the car and, instead of going home and putting yourself to bed like a responsible girl, you’ll find it necessary to drink away your sorrows with them and close down the hipster bar. Watching hipsters tends to make you feel better about yourself. To cap the night off, you’ll hop in a cab and instead of going home to your own bed, you’ll say you want to hang out some more at your friend’s house; then everyone will promptly pass out, leaving you to sleep in a chair with your boots still on, because those things are too damn hard to take off.

SO… if you ever find yourself making pumpkin ice cream and trying to be mature about life, and a friend starts pestering you to crash a cowboy wedding, my advice is to stay home. Ignore that little voice telling you to “be spontaneous”. I know you’re trying to live in the moment like you decreed last week, but don’t put the boots on. Yes, it will make a great story, but is another ridiculous story really what you need in life? Shouldn’t you focus a little more on growing up?

Well, at least it will give you something to write about on your blog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So what did YOU do this weekend? Any spontaneous decisions that led to a more successful evening than mine?