Yes, I cringed at the flat images reflecting back in the digital screen of my stomach in a celery green satin fitted dress.
No, I didn't dance (by sheer timing and bad luck missed the traditional group sway), or hit on a cute groomsman, cuter yet in a tux.
Yes, the scent of romance and cloud of youth (given the average age of the bridal party – sans mine – came in at 24ish), too much champagne, estrangement and empty house awaiting set me sobbing after. Knew it would. It's hard out here for a pimp.
No, I didn't keep the casual first dinner date/hook up (depending on the definition) we'd planned that night. I was a bit too drunk, my ego and esteem a bit too bruised and emotions running too amuck.
Yes, he called, even went to the restaurant in the hopes I would have too because, in his words, "even a chance at dinner with you was worth driving for."
No, I wasn't expecting a polite phone call from still distant family this morning thanking me for the help.
Yes, I let the machine picked it up.
No response to the teary, pining message left on the cell phone of my past Friday night.
Yes, I regret making it.
No, no, it really was a lovely day overall.