V: Venturing down the aisle...or not

When I was almost three years old, my aunt and uncle got married (not the ones I live with).  I was a flower girl for the first (I think) time.  (I don't mean aunt & uncle had multiple marriages, I mean I was in other weddings.  With other people.)  Anyway, I don't remember the ring-bearer's name, so we'll call him Bobby.  Bobby was thrilled to get all gussied up and participate in a wedding by carring a satin pillow.

Bobby made it through the rehearsal okay, but when the Big Day came and he found out that not only would he have to walk with a girl down the aisle again, but he would also have to do it in a tux, he decided he'd had enough.  Our moment came.  The music swelled, and we started to walk.  The room was filled with big people smiling down at us and whispering how cute we were.  This was the last straw for Bobby.  He saw his parents in the crowd, turned toward them, and ran.  I watched him, stunned for a moment, then I shrugged my shoulders, turned back toward the front of the sanctuary, and finished my job.  Boys.

I didn't know it at the time, but that episode would represent all of my future romantic or just-friends-but-I-wish-we-were-romantic endeavors.  While I enjoy the single life and understand how well it fits me now, in my 20's and early 30's I very much wanted to be married.  But I couldn't hook anyone.  I was just too cute.  And competent.  It's a cross I must bear.