A dildo can only do so much.
I don’t care what that sex-deprived housewife advertises at her quarterly ladies-only party nor how many orgasms that man-hating lesbian claims to have had with her “real man” — a dildo has limits, and I had reached it by my 34th birthday.
As they say, desperate times calling for desperate measures. You can neither complain nor protest; you simply can deal with life at that moment, and know it probably will never straighten itself out someday.
“That doesn’t mean marry the first normal guy you meet on Asian Cupid.”
Sometimes I really hated having such a keep-it-real friend like Mary. Why couldn’t she just do her matron of honor duties without the unnecessary commentary. Good friends may care enough to share concerns, but the best ones save that brutal honesty for clandestine diaries and ambiguous Twitter rants. But no, not Mary.
“Don’t give me that look, ok?! You have too many hi-bye friends. You need me to tell it like it is.” She sighed the frustration of talking to the wall that I could be at times. “That’s the problem with friendship nowadays — people like phony reality, on and off TV.”
She reiterated her thoughts just as we were leaving the hotel suite. But it was too late. The guest were waiting downstairs. The groom was waiting, too. And so were my family, friends, colleagues, old classmates and Facebook status updates. I had put a ring on my hand, a white dress on my body and a Kool-Aid smile on my face. I was walking forward, slower than a snail but with the determination of a fierce leader.
Mary picked up her bouquet; it took me hours to decide on that modern foliage design. It went perfectly with her green halter dress. She looked lovely, showing her feminine side that she rarely showed. But she needed to hold it at a 45 degree angle —
“Betsy, stop being a Virgo and critiquing these flowers. They are okay,” Mary said.
I looked at her wanting to say, no it wasn’t okay, nothing at all was okay about this day, this event, but I had long passed the days of hoping life would somehow work itself out. I knew if my life was to be anything that slightly resembled a Disney tale, I would have to be my own Walt Disney.
I looked down at my own bouquet. Full of life, full of the fruit that I had planted and reaped. My nose drew in the air deeply and profoundly like the tsunami waves were approaching.
“There’s still time for our Thelma and Louis drive to Vegas,” Mary said with all the seriousness of the nerdy science teacher she was.
I opened my eyes and looked at Mary. There truly was something about Mary.
“I’m tired Mary.” My eye lids pressed together helping to hold in the tears. She hugged me.
“If anyone can make this work, you can.”
“Hope you will deliver a better toast at the reception.”
She nodded and opened the double doors of the honeymoon suite and in the confusion of life, and I stepped forward cautiously, letting my sparkling silver stiletto lead the way.