12:02 a.m. - 2003-06-06
So all the eligable maidens are herded up to the dance floor against our wills. For various reasons I do not want to get married. EVER. I fear the bouquet. Not that I'm terribally superstitious mind you, but some of the old beliefs still get to me.
My sister and I are standing there grumbling, and my aunt throws the bouquet backwards over her shoulder, hard. I see it coming for me and dodge out of the way, hands up at my shoulders in the universal "I'm not touching it" gesture, like an infectious-disease ridden bird is flying at my head. My sister is paying less attention and gets smacked squarely in the shoulder by it, and similarly recoils in horror from the spot where it lands on the floor. My little cousin Christina who i think is right around ten years old picks it up happily. To her they're just pretty flowers. As she walks away with them my sister says:
"The sad thing is, she probably will be the next one to get married."
Which, sadly, is more likely than it sounds.