A few years ago, my friend invited me as her date to a friend’s wedding. It’s exciting to be invited to wedding. Especially if there’s an open bar and lots of people you don’t know.
We made our way to our table and met with a very drunk audience. It was barely an hour into the reception and one of the girls was already plastered against the wall, struggling to stay awake. Her long black hair and pale white skin made her look like a vengeful spirit out of a horror movie. Had she not leaned over when I sat down, anyone could’ve mistook her for dead: a thin, bony, pale body wearing a short, metallic blue dress.
“Oh man I’m tooo drunk.” she mumbled.
“Hey, shut the fuck up!” Her friend didn’t seem sympathetic at all. She herself had an empty bottle of Hennessy sitting in front of her and two full shot glasses of liquor. She asked me if I wanted to take a shot.
“Ok, your loss!!” She cheered herself and took both shots. She passed the empty bottle over to a guy sitting next to me. This guy was already suffering from a red glow and hiccups. He busted out an entirely new bottle of Hennessy.
“Why was everyone getting so drunk?” I thought.
I found out later that we sat with the older siblings of the bride: one divorced and two unmarried. I could only begin to imagine what they were feeling. Perhaps a mixture of happiness, loneliness, sadness, and pressure (from the family)? I could only speculate. But if I had to pick between sorting through my emotions while surrounded by family, or taking shots… shots would seem less painful.