It’s wedding day, concealer on the forehead doing its best to push down the nerves, white collar chokes the windpipe, palms sweat. The tipsy guests waddle into a tight cluster and “whoosh” the bouquet of white, fluffy chrysanthemums, tied neatly in a shiny white ribbon hovers in the air for an eternity. Mouths open, eyes widen, a chorus of gasps as single women clinging to their 40’s see polaroids of their youth flash before their eyes. They charge forward like Super Bowl linebackers at the 5 yard line with 30 seconds to go. Meanwhile, young stallions in their prime casually bend over to tie their shiny, black shoes, adjust their name brand belts and steal a refill at the punch bowl. The groom looks on with a tinge of jealousy. While his friends roam free, grazing greener pastures, he sees a setting sun on the horizon and an old wrinkled cowboy long past his gunslinging days galloping off. His tired mare kicks up dust as thankful villagers wave goodbye and children in muddy clothes chase after him carrying small baskets of burnt biscuits, beef jerky, and tattered leather canteens. The glowing bride looks at him and smiles. She imagines a large suburban house, filled with laughter, fruit pies, toast, jam, and the pitter patter of little feet running across the checkered floor as nieces and nephews cannonball into the sparkling swimming pool, splashing their elders.
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