Speakeasy #144 | That Girl

EXHIBIT M: Excerpt from Lacey Bennet’s Journal, May 20th, 2013

Nobody wants to be “that girl” – unless “that” is the only memorable thing about you, the only thing keeping you from being just “girl.”

I cling to the labels, no matter what they are. “Slut,” “skank,” and the big c-word are pretty common, and thus totally unimaginative. I mean, can’t you cut a woman down with something a little more bold? At least Joss Whedon used “quim.”

Anyway, C’s wedding. It was straight off Pinterest in the best way possible. It was gorgeous – I mean, g-o-r-geous. C showed a rare amount of restraint for a DIY bride with a Pinterest addiction, but she managed to pull in the burlap without it feeling like a sack race and use Mason jars without conjuring up images of moonshine. We had a lot of mimosas getting ready, but that’s what bridesmaids do, right? And no one said anything when I spilled the teensiest bit on the MOH’s “special” dress, but maybe everyone was still tipsy then or MAYBE everyone was tired of the MOH being the bridezilla of this shindig. Either way, point – Lacey!!!

So, the ceremony was love this and commitment that. Oh my LAWD, I thought I was gonna lose it when MOH busted out the serenade. I looked over and T had the same “holy shit, is she for real?” look on his face and then we both blushed and looked away because of course we did, and suddenly nothing was as funny anymore.

The reception. So many champagne toasts that I lost count but found the hiccups. HA.

I slipped away for some fresh air after the cake. The DJ had moved away from good songs and was a slave to requests, playing some Elton John cover of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

Seriously?

Anyway, I guess T needed some fresh air, too, because he came up behind me and said “Hey, Lacey.” He was so quiet that I jumped and spilled champagne all over the front of my dress. He offered to help me clean it up, and that’s how we ended up in my hotel room, frantic and totally wrong.

(Frantic + totally wrong = best kind of passion?!?)

After it was over, we shared a joint. The scent hung over us, illegal and illicit and so good.

“I thought you were gonna forget all this? Turn over a new leaf?” I said to him.

“Some things can’t be forgotten.” T’s words hung between us, and I kissed him for too long and then we both knew it was time to part. T slipped on his tux, cut so well it made him look like a Greek god (Adonis?).

Nobody wants to be the bridesmaid who sleeps with the groom on his wedding night – unless the groom loves you and not your sister.

This piece was written for the speakeasy #144 challenge. Word count is 475, under the 750-word max. As always, feedback is appreciated!

Update, 1/18/14: This piece took 3rd place, as well as the Editors’ Pick! Thanks, everyone 🙂