I was invited to a wedding that was scheduled for a Saturday. Before the big day, I went shopping for a new dress; I wanted to look my best and didn’t want to settle for something old. The dress I chose was expensive, but I justified the cost by planning to wear it to other formal events in the future. I made sure to gather everything I needed for the occasion, and finally, the day arrived.
After getting dressed, I headed to the church where the ceremony was being held. When I arrived, I realized I was late—and I knew it because every pair of eyes that wasn’t blind was fixed on me. If you’re going to be late for an event, make sure you’re “worthy” of the attention or at least properly dressed. Latecomers are natural distractions, so people tend to stare. Too many eyes attacked me that day, so I didn’t bother choosing a specific seat; I simply grabbed the nearest available one.
My seat was next to a man whose gaze seemed to ravage my clothed body. If stares could kill, he’d be serving a life sentence. He couldn’t take his eyes off me. Then I heard him say, “I thought you were the bride when you walked in.” I wondered who he was trying to impress, but I replied, “Really? I thought the bride usually walks down the aisle with someone.” He laughed and told me I was beautiful—“bride material,” he said.
I didn’t respond further. I pretended not to hear him and kept my eyes elsewhere. Though I was late, the bride was even later, so we all waited. While waiting, his words replayed in my mind: bride material. I wondered what that looked like. Based on his tone, it sounded like a compliment. When I finally decided to glance at him, he was gone—I hadn’t even noticed him leave.
The bride eventually arrived, and her entrance was something to behold. Her face was covered, so no one could tell if she was beautiful, but her dress was a definite “wow.” The ceremony proceeded without interruption, and the couple tied the knot. It wasn’t a free-for-all event—they had invited the right people.
After the ceremony, we moved to the reception, and everything was immaculate. The cake had an exquisite design, and its taste matched its beauty—absolutely delicious. The aroma of the food teased my senses until it was time to eat, and when I finally did, the wait was worth it. Every bite was heavenly.
Once we were full, the couple opened the dance floor. Soon after, others joined in, including me. While dancing, I heard a familiar voice: “May I have this dance?” When I turned to see who it was, I froze in shock. My heart raced like it was trying to beat Usain Bolt’s 100-meter record. My eyes locked on him as if struck by a temporary spell. He was tall, handsome, and looked every bit like “groom material.” The only word my vocal cords could find was “yes.”
We danced and danced, and I enjoyed myself so much that I thought I should attend more weddings. Eventually, we grew tired and sat down to talk. Just as we began learning about each other, someone called my name—and suddenly, I was in my bed. It had all been a dream. The voice was my son’s, waking me up to ask why I was grinning in my sleep like the Cheshire Cat.
