Thirteen Dresses (Part 1)

Consequently in recent years I started to dismiss most of their movie recommendations. Every now and then, on the increasingly rare occasions they have time and desire to see a movie in the evening or on a weekend (the only time I can go to a movie because I have a job which requires me to work during the days Monday to Friday (and often weekends)) they want to see chick-flicks. Lame, predictable chick flicks. I go because I want to spend time with my friends, not because I want to see the movies they want to see. But. When they recommend a movie to me I just smile and nod like I’m trying to be polite to someone whose language I don’t speak.

That’s how I feel most of the time: I don’t speak their language. They’re foreigners to me.

When one-by-one they sent me emails telling me I had to see 27 Dresses I just hit delete.

Why so much prodding for this particular movie?

My “number.”

Apparently I have an above average “number.” They tell me the average woman’s “number"” is three, but I recall reading a survey saying the average “number” for normal, healthy women has increased to five.

My “number” is thirteen.

Which is fourteen less than twenty-seven. But still on the high side for times down the aisle as a bridesmaid.

If I include flower girl duty and obligatory sibling wedding party participation I’ve logged nineteen trips down the aisle. But I don’t count those. Being a flower girl is the first base of wedding party participation, and siblings’ weddings are like second base.

Oh, I saw the ads for 27 Dresses. I was aware of it. I knew the premise. And yes, I did chuckle at the idea.

But when my friends started sending emails saying, “OMG! You could have written that! It’s a movie about you … well … except you haven’t found a great guy yet,” I felt that familiar tug at my heart. I’m single. I have no boyfriend and no prospects. I haven’t even had a good date in, well, a long time. My friends’ lives are moving forward in the usual progression. Mine is not.