First Date Wedding
A few months ago I was invited to be a plus-one at a wedding. The invitation was extended to me by a guy I matched with on Hinge, and if I agreed to go it would be our first date.
There was no previous small talk about music preferences, where we’re from, or other get-to-know-you topics of discussion.
Making a strong opening, he dove right in with, “Would being the plus one to a wedding next Sunday sound appealing to you?” He painted an enticing picture: “A dress, some good food, and vibes.”
The event was five days out, not leaving me much time for preparation, but I said, “Okay I think I’m down.” I gave him my number and from there it was off to the races.
As is always the case when I first meet a potential love interest, I had low expectations. In fact, I wasn’t even fully attracted to the guy when we matched. But when you’ve reached the point that I have in dating, you start to do things for the hell of it. I’m also aware that sparks can fly in unexpected scenarios, so I was ready to just see what happens.
Ahead of the date I spent a small fortune making sure I was the best iteration of arm candy I could be for my companion. After he sent me a selection of ties to match my dress to, I headed to House of CB to try on different styles.
I sent him pictures of me modeling various options to get his opinion on the best look. An hour later we landed on a satin, Cinderella blue number with a plunging neckline. It had a sexy thigh split and a corset bodice.
I thought it might be a tad too spicy but when I asked, “Do you want me more conservative or are you okay with a sexier look?” he gave me the green light to do as I pleased. Even though we didn’t know each other I wanted to look appropriate, and be the most flattering extension of him.
When he picked me up I stepped out of my apartment building to find him standing against a black BMW sedan. It was charming.
But once I met him in person I knew immediately that it would be our first and last date. He was dressed nicely, but his stature was smaller than I expected and I could tell by the way that he spoke and his mannerisms that he wasn’t my type. I like my men suave, and he was on the dorky end of the spectrum. I was ready to make the best of it though.
The nuptials were held at a country club just outside of Los Angeles on a beautiful, warm Sunday. After pregaming in the car, we made our way to the ceremony, which took place on a lush corner of a sprawling golf course.
We grabbed flutes of champagne before approaching a set of 45 guest chairs that weren’t even close to being filled. I couldn’t believe how small the wedding was! It felt way too intimate for me to be attending as a complete stranger. I felt like a wedding crasher. I second-guessed my outfit choice but there was nothing I could do at that point.
I was the most scantily clad attendee and later, after the vows were exchanged, one of the officiants — who was an older Black woman — showed her disapproval with a distinctive death stare. My date was adamant that he didn’t care about what the people at the wedding thought. He said his priority was us having a good time.
It sounded nice but he was too lackadaisical. He continuously made fun of the portly groom, referring to his longtime friend as a Teletubby and commenting on how much he was sweating. It was immature and annoying.
He didn’t take anything about the occasion seriously. While filling out an ‘advice and wishes’ card for the couple, I took my time trying to think of heartfelt pointers. But my date was flippant about the task. For a prompt that said “Sometimes you need to…” he filled in “STFU.”
I looked forward to the dinner portion of the celebration, but even that was kind of spoiled by my date’s attitude. He thought he RSVP’d for a steak dinner, but he got a vegetarian dish instead. I tried to make things lighter by sharing my food with him, but he just picked at it.
The wedding turned into a surprise pregnancy announcement and gender reveal, which only served to heighten the level of intimacy, making me feel even more out of place.
We danced for a bit, but the music objectively sucked. There were a lot of top 40 singles played from like, 5-10 years ago. Very cheesy. Still, I wanted to be a quality plus-one so I got up and danced. I couldn’t endure my date grinding on me like we were in eighth grade though, so it didn’t last long.
The second most cringe-worthy moment of the evening was when my date asked if he would see me again and I had to friend zone him on the spot. Worse than that was when we got drunk enough to tell a couple of the other guests that we were on our first date and then they asked if we planned to see each other again. I didn’t want to make things more awkward, so I think I said something like “We’ll have to see…”
When it was time for the traditional bouquet toss I took my spot among the single women. Like I said, it was a very small gathering, so we were pretty much all forced to participate in it. I stood as far back as I could, with no interest in catching the floral arrangement.
It reminded me of being at a wedding when I was just seven-years-old, and jumping with all my might as I tried to catch the flowers with my whole life still ahead of me. Although I don’t know exactly what I was thinking at the time, I figure I must’ve been trying to reach for some promise of future love.
I’m still hopeful about love, but at nearly 31-years-old I’ve adjusted my expectations. I know it doesn’t have to come in a traditional package or on an adventurous first date. I also know my fate won’t be dictated by whether or not I catch a bundle of roses. So like I did at those strangers’ wedding — rather than leaping to grasp at it — I’m stepping back and letting things happen in their natural timing. No plus-one necessary.
