Here I am having an early dinner for one. Enjoying a well earned beer(s) after a shift at my restaurant. Across from me is an engagement party occupying half of the bar. It’s an interesting age I’ve entered because I’ve hit the wedding years.
Everyone I know is getting married.
If my life is a romantic comedy starring J. Lo as yours truly, (because DUH), I’m at the point where I realize I’m alone on the dance floor. It’s that part of the movie where our heroine steps out for a night with friends and slowly realizes she’s the 3rd, 5th, or even 11th wheel.
Yes, one time my friends all lovingly came to see one of my shows and I was the 11th wheel. On my own damn night.
Everyone I know is settling down and I’m on my second beer alone on the corner of 8th & 19th.
Is it weird? Yes. Am I okay?
Yes.
Maybe this is the moment in The Wedding Planner when J. Lo thinks she has her shit together and then almost gets hit by a rouge dumpster barrelling down the street.
No worries. She meets Matt McConaughey.