The Dangers of Freaking

Word Count: 1599

SIS: Scarlette relates her early connection between weddings and jumping off of cliffs

     I know that I am a female anatomically, and my desire to wear the most uncomfortable shoes possible to every activity I can, basically cements this fact.

     I engage in several stereotypical female activities, such as turning on the water works when I get pulled over, passing over the Wall Street Journal for US Weekly, and I have at least 23 different kinds of lip-gloss with more than that many purses to house my gloss in. 

     HOWEVER; I am deeply offended, insulted, and actually downright pissed off about the nasty rumor that is floating around about “women planning their weddings” since the day they learned how to make their Barbies say, “I do.”

     I came face to face with this commonly used insult last weekend. Board Short’s (my lovable little cupcake) college roommate had a wedding. We decided to take a road trip to southern Idaho to witness “his union.” 

     Sounds like a pleasant, even romantic trip. And for the most part it was.

     I hadn’t met very many of Board Short’s college friends, and, you know, it’s some kind of “big test” when you meet your significant other’s kin. 

     In theory I thought that I’d dress rather conservatively, laugh at their jokes, lift my glass when everyone else did and generally avoid any deep conversation. 

     Basically, I’d be a perfect girlfriend, therefore insuring that he wouldn’t be embarrassed and I would fit seamlessly into “the gang.”

     I probably could have pulled it off. I could have tried harder, drank less, conjured up some fake emotion. I could have. 

     But as many of you who read this column know, the real me always seems to awkwardly show up at the party without an invite. This instance was no different.

     Picture this: I’m sitting in a modified amphitheatre drinking keg beer from a plastic cup, dressed in an outfit that took only about 6 weeks to choose. 

     I’m thinking that it’s possible that I might be going to hell for drinking during a sacred ceremony, but everyone else is (and remember the goal was to fit in) so hopefully The Lord in all her mercy will take this into consideration. 

     Anyhow, on one side of me is Board Shorts, on the other is his friends and their chicks – I don’t know how else to say it: some are wives, some are girlfriends and others are just referred to as so-n-so’s chick. 

     The ceremony starts and it soon becomes very obvious that this is no ordinary cookie cutter type of deal. 

     The Bride turns to the crowd, tilts her head back, waves her bouquet in the air and shouts, “Can I get a hell yeah?”  

     The “reverend” that was his title, belonged to a congregation that celebrates love, unity, individuality and non-denominational spirituality. For our pleasure, and obviously because the bride and groom’s grandparents were there the Reverend decided to share with us a poem called “Life’s a Bitch.” 

     I have never, even on TV seen both the bride and the reverend use profanity during the ceremony. That was a first.

     I found out more about The Reverend’s church later on. I decided to interview him while I sent my sister emergency text messages, and he smoked Marlboro reds. 

     For now, though, I will tell you what the conversation at the dinner table was like. It was I and three other women. And the first of many disastrous conversations went about like this.

     Wife: Look at Husband, omigod, he is crying again; he cried during the whole ceremony. He just gets so emotional.

     Me: Hahahaha.

     Girlfriend: What do you think of these flower arrangements? I have been keeping a notebook of all the special things that boyfriend and me see at weddings, so that our wedding will be the best ever. Go Kappa’s, I love Prada!!!!

     Chick: What? What are you talking about? 

     Me: I love mashed potatoes.

     Wife: Weren’t you married before??

     Me: Yes, I love it when people bring that up! We didn’t have a wedding, and it was a disastrous marriage. Would you like my therapist’s number so you can discuss it with her?

     Girlfriend: You are kidding me, how sad, I am going to cry, I feel so bad for you. Haven’t you been planning your wedding forever? I wear a size 00.

     Me: I’m going to go contemplate my worthless existence at the buffet line. 

     Chick: Me too.

     Wife: He’s crying again. He always cries during the speeches.

     After that I felt really good about myself, and decided to free-base mashed potatoes and wash them down with wine. 

     I tried to recall my childhood-based wedding plans, and the realization hit me that I did have a plan. I used to tell my parents about it all the time. 

     I was going to get married on a cliff, and after the “kiss the bride” part of the wedding, I was going to strip off the dress to reveal my tiny white bikini and jump off the cliff. That was about it, there weren’t any bridesmaids or centerpieces involved.

     Generally I tend to keep my opinions on marriage to myself, but being served annoyance and generous amounts of free alcohol was really loosening me up.

     The next time I was asked about what I would do/not do at my imaginary wedding I started speaking like a prophet: “I don’t know what I would give my bridesmaids as gifts, but I can tell you this:  marriage is a lot easier to get into than out of.”

     I pretty much started telling everyone that. I was getting annoyed you see. I have a habit of loosing it when I get annoyed. I made it through the rest of the pageantry with out any major issue – until the dance floor.

     I was ready to dance all my problems and inadequacies away – naturally, though, Board Shorts “doesn’t like to dance.” 

     So everyone in our group was dancing it up, singing and having a grand old time, while I was squirming around like a damn jack russel terrier begging Board Shorts to dance. 

     In an act of sheer defiance he walked over to the wall and leaned up against it. WTF? Was I supposed to go pretend like I was a wallflower too? Was I supposed to awkwardly dance by myself?

     Perhaps the only fun part of the night was occurring right at that second, and he was denying me the right to participate.

     One of his friends shouted out “Scarlette, you should go freak Board Shorts, that will get him off the wall.” 

     In my wine and carbohydrate-induced psychedelic trip I had a vague notion of what “freaking” was. I conjured up some images of Soul Train and a Shakira video and sauntered over to Board Shorts, whose eyes lit up in horror. He definitely would have backed away, but the wall was preventing his smooth getaway. 

     In my attempt to freak, I kicked my foot up to the wall behind him (in order to brace myself for the severe pelvic thrusting that was about to take place).

     Unfortunately on the way up, my foot hit his glass, and instead of getting the freaking that he deserved, he got a beer shower. 

     He was in a word: pissed. And there was no amount of apologizing that was going to fix it. Board Shorts is a tidy man, and that just pushed him over the edge.

     So when he hastily left the scene to dry off, I ditched the party and went outside. 

     My sister conveniently lived in town, and I started frantically texting her: “pick me up now.” 

     She called me back and tried to talk me down, it would be at least another hour till she could come get me. So I thought about walking, but just as fate would have it, I had on a pair of ridiculously cute shoes, and nowhere to really walk to except the hotel room, which I didn’t have the key for.

     Then just like a sign from I’m not sure where, the Reverend showed up and asked me if I minded if he smoked. 

     I didn’t care I had been shunned from the party; I didn’t give a damn if he wanted to snort illegal drugs off a nun’s habit.

     He told me about his church and I told him about the freaking incident. When we had both sufficiently vented, I felt better. 

     So what I don’t run around planning weddings, who cares if I like mashed potatoes, I’m sorry that I was married. I am a pretty F-ing nice girlfriend and sometimes as my boyfriend you’re just going to have to dance. 

     Thank you, Reverend, wherever you are. I bet your daughter will never run away like the girl in Footloose. 

     Board Shorts found me, and apologized sort of – at that point I didn’t actually care much, I saw his anger as a sign that he must not like me and if he preferred someone else than that’s the way the wedding cake crumbled.

     The problem with being me is that wherever I go there I am. I could try to turn myself into more of a docile servant. But eventually Scarlette would come out and we’d both be disappointed. 

     I’ve lived just a little bit too much life to go around pretending.

     I was pretty much terrified about how the rest of the conversation was going to go, but just then Board Shorts surprised me. He asked me if I wanted to dance. 

     Seriously, I think he might be perfect!

     Watch for the Drink when you go to freak!

XOXO

Scarlette Quille