I've been invited to attend yet another friend's wedding ceremony dinner. While I am all for celebrating my best buddy's most joyous occasion of his life, I dread having to spend an entire evening seated at a table amongst strangers and old acquaintances whom I have not bothered to keep in touch with and vice versa. And since I don't drink, I don't have the luxury of having alcohol to soften the agony of boredom. And then there is the question that all singletons abhor getting at such occasions.
Yes, THE question.
"When is it your turn to get married?"
Gee, I didn't know I had taken a number and joined the line to queue up for my shot at matrimonial bliss. And I think that the person asking is often not that innocent, as he/she is usually implying that since others have succeeded in snagging their life partner, I have somehow failed at one of life's most important tasks.
To add salt to injury, they go on to justify their enquiry by saying, "...you're not getting any younger you know," and smile ever so sweetly, pretty much like how Cruella De Ville would smile when she's pleased with the slaughter of dalmations for her next fur coat.
To which I would answer (had I had the gall, of course),
"Well, you're not getting any younger yourself. So, when is it your turn... to die?"
I am so damned to hell. Mwuahahahaha
