I’m on vacation this week, so thought it would be fun to get input on my search from the people witnessing it first hand. Today my brother explains how he inadvertently launched a mini-search of his own, in a place usually reserved for a different sort of pick up.
When I was single I told anyone who’d listen that “I kill at weddings.” Not only do I subscribe to the idea that weddings are the best place in the world to meet girls, but I was hoping to write the book (or at least start the blog). And of course I wasn’t wrong—that’s how I met Jaime almost 3 years ago. If you’re at the wedding then you’ve been invited by the bride or groom, which at least gives you a touch of credibility. You’re automatically better off than some guy who approaches a girl at a dimly lit bar, and you definitely have something in common with the other guests (at bare minimum you both know the couple, at best you can swap stories with the mutual high school/college/hometown guest sitting next to you at Table 14, the singles table).
Jaime and I were recently at her best friend’s wedding, which meant she had various bridesmaid-like obligations that morning. It also meant I was left on my own with a bunch of other husbands and boyfriends for hours. We planned ahead and I exchanged phone numbers with a couple of guys so we could figure out plans while the girls were primping (namely, find the right bar to watch the soccer game).
Later, at the wedding, Jaime introduced me to a guy who she’d met a few times through the bride. He didn’t know anyone else there, so he spent much of the night hanging out with us. He came to the wedding without a date, and you would have thought this guy would be a prize for any girl there. Funny, cool, nice (but not too nice), smart, much much better looking than I, well dressed and, from what I’m told, pretty successful. When he wasn’t hanging out with us, I caught glimpses of him talking/laughing/dancing with various girls – I had no doubt he was making his move.
But fast forward to the after party and, unfortunately for him, he’s sitting next to me while I’m attempting to live vicariously through his night of trying to find some single girl to take home. We start breaking down every candidate I could come up with. The first girl he’d previously dated, the next bunch had boyfriends, and everyone else we could think of he wasn’t really attracted to. There really weren’t many single girls there—maybe that’s a function of going to a wedding of other 31-year olds, but still I was surprised. While this guy, who I could’ve guaranteed would walk away with multiple phone numbers, went back to his hotel room empty handed, I got digits from three guys. Maybe people are more open to a BFF than a Ms. Right these days. Or maybe I just still kill at weddings.