Can't Dance? F____ The Pumpkin!

I have been to a lot of weddings in the past year; it seems that most of Michigan’s twenty-something crowd is on its way to marital bliss. Even before I got engaged, I was always thinking about my wedding when I was supposed to be celebrating someone else’s, imagining my self in the bride’s shoes.

Somewhere between noticing the height of her heels and the start some ridiculous line dance which had everyone but me and great grandma out of the dance floor laughing at their inability to all face in one direction; I realized that would never be me.

I would never be that bride. I will never shake it like a Polaroid picture or cha cha real smooth. I can bop it, I can roll it, if I am lucky I can wave it like I just don’t care without someone asking me if I am okay, but I don’t do anything smooth. The tragic thing is that I love to dance. I think I got it from my Daddy, who was kicked out of school for doin’ the twist as a teenager. I can imagine my body moving fluidly, and every time I try, the realization is like a slap in the face.

If I was of the AB variety (that’s able bodied for those of you that are unaware), I would take a class; find out what the heck the Charlie Brown is. But a class would just teach me to wave spastically in rhythm. And I already happen to have excellent rhythm according to special ed music teachers.

It is at this point, when I am letting the little things get in the way of the fact that in less then a year I will be married to one of the best men I know and THE best man for me, that I simply have to say “F____the Pumpkin!” and move on.

“F____ the Pumpkin?!?” Yes indeedy. Back in college, around this time of year, my very-best-friend-in-the-entire-world Charles and I got really down in the dumps. It was tragic, a pity party to end all pity parties. So Charles went out side and stole a pumpkin from my very own front porch. Then he came back with it and handed me a Sharpie. He grabbed his own Sharpie and began writing on the pumpkin, all the bad things that were getting him down. I began doing the same. When it was full we walked to the bridge that connected to two side of campus and tossed that sucker over the side. Can you guess what we yelled when it smashed at the bottom?

So there it is. My advice to all of you getting married who might not be that bride. F___ the Pumpkin. Don’t let the little things get in the way of the big picture. We won’t be doing the Cha Cha slide at my wedding, or the Hustle; but I might just invent a dance called the Spastic Slide. Don’t worry, I’ll give lessons.