Once upon a fairytale in the land of the young and naïve I was married. 16 years ago on July 7th, I only remember the date because it was three days after the Fourth and I still had a pocket full of snaps and snakes. As I walked down the aisle in my grandma’s backyard I didn’t feel nervous at all. My guest included my parents (better known as the two cabbage patch dolls I got for my birthday and Christmas the year before) my sister (the ever trendy rainbow brite) and my little brother (real blood brother, but still being debated to this day of his origins).
I had a bouquet of honeysuckle flowers picked from my Grandma’s tree, and sure to be a great treat for me after my wedding. See the only thing I loved more than those red berries (which I would turn into a mush pie) from the tree next door, was honeysuckle flowers. I heard my mom say a million times the honey could be poisonous, but that never stopped me from allowing the little bit of honey to trickle of the root into my mouth.
As I made my way closer to my groom (the kid from downstairs whose mom always had the name brand snacks) he began to smile. His smile was of a genuine crush on me, mine was because I was about to marry him and inherit a real Hostess Twinkie and a bag of Potato Stixs Chips. My brother’s voice played the minister of the pound puppy that was marrying us. We had fully agreed the “you may now kiss the bride” would be substituted for a hug and my snacks.
As I was focused to keep my eyes on my prizes he leaned over and kissed me on my cheek. This was immediately followed by a push by me and a swift kick in his shin from my black and white oxfords (my mom insisted on me wearing them versus my jelly sandals since I chewed them half to death). I wanted to push him harder on the ground and beat his life out, but I had promised my daddy no more cuts or bruises to my “princess face” as he called it.
I still remember the look in the kid’s eyes, pure agony that his dry cracked crusty lip plan had failed! The divorce took place as soon as he nursed his leg (which had already begun to bruise thanks to his mixed genes). I would be paid a Twinkie once a day as alimony (bribery really), or tell my older brother that he kissed me and watch him beat the kid senseless. Either way I would have been satisfied but the creaminess of that Twinkie won by a landslide.
I say all that to say this, “I didn’t understand that boys ALWAYS have an ulterior motive then and I still DON’T understand them now as men”. But one thing I am certain of, FOOD STILL MAKES ME HAPPY (insert sad fat girl face here).