Of weddings

Oof, well the hangover mist has just about settled from last weekend's antics to condemn them to print. Please bear in mind, this happened after she'd had no sleep on the flight back from DC (and look, you CAN be sympathetic and ignore the fact she was in a bed on a plane. A fact she is still marvelling over). Then she had to go straight back to work that day, then to the London office the following two days, then to the wedding reception of a friend.
What perhaps set the tone was that when she and gorgeous work colleague (and her boyfriend) arrived in the Surrey park in a taxi, they literally stumbled out into the middle of a fight. A big old fist-fight, evidently involving the wedding guests, with F and C bombs being dropped all over the place. Deary me.
They then met up with former work colleague boy - who had decided to drink his way through the day, having been invited to the main event without knowing a single other person. He could barely speak, but managed to furnish them with a bottle of red wine and some cheese, which was about all that was left from the buffet.
She decided, spurred on by the wine, to tell gorgeous colleague and drunk boy about her little work crush. On the smiley boy with the deliciously dark red hair. She was a tad reluctant to do so, and said: "Well, I don't want to give his name. You're going to tell me he has some fantastic long term girlfriend/wife etc etc. And I don't want to know!". This was met with a sympathetic smile, and a: "It's not Bill is it?" (look, he's not called Bill. But he LOOKS like a Bill. And yes, dear readers, it was Bill).
She felt crestfallen and must have looked it, as GC immediately rushed in with an: "Oh my God, are you okay? Here, have some Stilton. And wine. Drink the wine."
It wasn't so much that it was Bill himself, just the fact that here was another crush that was an absolute dead end. There seem to be a fair few too many of those of late.
When he was otherwise engaged (errr... trying to deactivate yet another fight), GC turned to her and whispered: "What about drunk boy? Not tonight, obviously. But still..."
This planted the seed in her head, and she decided a dance wouldn't hurt. She'd always had a feeling they may end up having a little kiss at some point, after all.
She could ignore the fact he was grinding his hips, back to back, against the groom's mother's best friend, who may well have been in the Golden Girls. She couldn't ignore Robbie Williams' Angels when it came on however, which she simply cannot be in the same room as.
Going outside, she happened upon a table of people laughing and smoking, and recognising one of them from work, joined them, hoping for a drunken cigarette. This is the point at which she took two (large) drags of the one offered to her, before realising it wasn't a normal cigarette, by any stretch of the imagination. Oooooops.
Things started going ever-so-slightly blurry at this point. But she had a real gem of a moment, so much so that if any scriptwriters of Bridget Jones 3 are reading this, they're welcome to have it for free (or perhaps, in payment, she could have a little grope of Colin Firth? Thanks).
Then drunk boy and her were dancing. So far so good. She asked if he needed to share a taxi back with her and GC at which point he grinned, and slurred: "Noooo. I'm gunna home with YOU" - and stumbled, plunging to the floor like a sack of potatoes encased in concrete, falling perfectly under a table, leaving only his feet sticking out.
Seeing he wasn't actually dead, she decided leaving the scene with her wine-splashed dress was the only answer. By the time she had regained her composure and returned, it was last song time. And drunk boy was living up to his name.
Cut to outside, and taxis are being lined up. She is having to grab onto him because he (please bear in mind he's built like a rugby player) is stumbling to the floor. Cue argument with taxi driver who insists drunk boy should be going to hospital instead. She uses her best persuasion skills to get him inside, and immediately goes into her best Florence Nightingale mode.
Only thing is, Florence probably didn't rub the back of her patients' heads. Allow said head to rest on her shoulder. Allow the lips on the said head to then kiss her. Literally, from half-dead to being in mid-snog in the space of three minutes.
God knows what GC and boyfriend thought (their reactions, she seems to remember, consisted of jaws hitting floors). They managed, eventually, to get drunk boy home, and he was saved from having to climb through a window by a housemate.
In a way, she wishes this weren't the end of the story. In her (drunken) wisdom, she decided sending him a text that night to inform him of their little cab romance was wise, and to take him up on the dinner he promised her in the middle of the last dance.
But, do you know what? Nothing. Okay, he sent a text apology, saying he feared he'd made a fool of himself at the wedding. But he later told GC he had no recollection of the night at all.
As has been pointed out to her, this was hardly likely to be the beginning of a beautiful romance, was it? It would have been nice to have been asked for that dinner though.
In the spirit of new starts and not giving up, she's now signed up to mysinglefriend.com, thanks to Ms E's helpful nudging and wondrous description of her (she wasn't bribed, honest). She'd kind of given up on the whole web dating thing, but hey! Let's see how it goes. It can't get any worse... can it???