The Wrong Wedding

I don’t know why she invited me. I really don’t.

Worse, I don’t know why I came.

Surely I’d make liberal use of the open bar. What else would be expected? She was my ex-fiancee, blushing pretty up there at the altar with some douchewizard with a cleft chin. La dee da. Another jack and coke for me. And another! To the bride and bridegroom! Oh yes! To all the lovers and cleft chins the world over! Huzzah for cleft loving chinners! Huzzah for Jacks and Cokes alike! Huzzah huzzah huzzah!

No one else was huzzahing. I was embarrassing myself—but who could blame me? No one!

And it’s not as though I feel bad. Badly. Badly feel bad? Baddo-baddo-bo-baddo. NO! Of course not! She was horrible—horrible! And I was young and stupid—so stupid was I!—yes!—young and stupid and love-drunk on Jessica and Coke was I, oh. And my mother hated her. She did. She did, she did. I hate her now. Jessica! Jessica I hate, not my mother. I love my mother, as one does.

Jessica, I hate. No I don’t. I don’t care. Fuck ‘er. She said yes, and she gave me my ring straight back not two weeks later. Undoubtedly she was friendly with cleftchin even then. Well, good for me! She was no good. No good! She was rude and—and so smug. Oh, how my mother hated her. How I loved her and how I hate her—no, how indifferent I am to her now. I don’t care.

I don’t care.

Why did you invite me, Jessica? Why, oh why? You harpie!

Another! A coke’n’jack, if you please, monsieur! Yes, that’s how you say Jack and Coke in French, mon ami! Oh yes, it is. It’s called reversal. Something about reversing.

Hark! The DJ is silencing me with fresh beats. Oh, that crafty deej. Little does he know my prowess, my prowess of the dance. Yes. Prowess! And now, to the dance floor! Alone, I don’t care! En garde!

I hadn’t realized I was standing on a table until my stroll toward the dance floor resulted in a cracked rib and a concussion. A concussion and a hangover is a fun little cocktail I would never recommend. Plus the alcohol poisoning.

My mom said I shouldn’t go. She never liked Jessica.

I should listen to my mom more.



Day 246’s three random writing prompt categories were, “The person your mother warned you about,” “At your ex-fiancee’s wedding,” and, “Alcohol poisoning.”

Always listen to Mom. Detective Mom or otherwise.

– H.

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