Laur got married this weekend. The ceremony was beautiful, she looked beautiful, everything was perfect. Everything except that fact that yesterday we were 18 years old sitting in our dorm room at 5 in the evening realized we'd been in there for a full 24 hours, laughing about how we hadn't gone to class in 3 weeks, and today we're 21 and getting married and having real jobs and tomorrow we'll have hot flashes and rely on life alert and Metamucil.
It is worth mentioning that everyone in this above picture is married, but me. I seem to remember a list that was passed around our ward freshman year listing us girls in order of Most Likely To Wed In The Next Five Years to Most Likely To Be An Old, Saggy Spinster. On said list Liz, Rachel and Lauren were far ahead of me. Not hard to accomplish seeing as how I was pulling of the rear on the spinster side. Did we call it, or did we call it?
It is evident that, at this point, the only real control I have over my life is what kind of animal I will become obsessed with. Old spinsters always have an animal to keep them company. Regrettably, the idea of living with a smelly dog or annoying cat send shrills down my spine. Maybe I'll just get a garden. Then again I'm not a fan of eating healthy when I'm lonely. Where do they make ice cream? Wherever it is, that's where I'm going to retire. The Ben and Jerry headquarters.
I thought seriously just now about deleting that extremely depressing stream of conscience. I didn't though because I wouldn't be me if I wasn't complete estranged from reality and how life really works. Congratulation, Lauren. I hope my detachment doesn't take any of the joy from your big day.