Tipsy bartender wife2/28/2024 ![]() “Getting married is one big emotional whirlwind. “I’m hormonal.” I rattled off every excuse I could think of. “What’s the matter?” My best friend and bridesmaid, Tina, knelt beside me, rubbing my back. He trusted me, so he believed that lie-just as he believed all the other lies that would come after.Īt the reception, I drank too much Chardonnay and ended up dry-heaving over the toilet, head spinning. “I’m crying happy tears!” I insisted when he cradled my face. I sobbed when we shared our first kiss as husband and wife. My voice shook but gave nothing away emotionally. Why burden a good man with so much pain? So I vowed to be faithful to him, forsaking all others. You’ll destroy him if you tell the truth, Ann. I didn’t deserve to marry Jay, but neither did he deserve to have his heart broken. As he took my trembling hands in his, I convinced myself I had a duty to protect him from the trauma of learning what I’d done. I’d never thought of myself as someone who was big on strength, resolve or courage, but at that moment, every trace of those qualities abandoned me. I saw his eyes shining with pride and admiration where there should have been disgust. Then I reached the altar and looked up at my husband-to-be, who had no idea how I’d betrayedhim. My conscience shrieked: “Abort!” But everyone’s eyes were on me. I wanted to sob and scream, to crush the white roses in my bouquet, to tear up the tulle skirt of my wedding dress. Halfway down the aisle, I wanted to turn around and run. I had to save my fiancé from me before it was too late. I knew that with every step I took, time was running out. I walked down the aisle on my wedding day feeling sick to my stomach. The sex was soulless and unsatisfying, and it was over within a few minutes. He unzipped the back of my dress while I unbuttoned his jeans. We ended up back in the grimy bathroom stall. Then, in a senseless moment of drunken self-sabotage, I leaned forward and kissed him. “Have I seen you somewhere before?” the stranger repeated. I was angry at myself, at Jay, and at my oblivious friends who couldn’t see I wasn’t ready for marriage. But I wasn’t angry at the stranger, whose interest was mildly flattering. I felt a wave of anger and grief wash over me again. “Have I seen you somewhere before?” He asked. He was clean-shaven, his shirt was crisply ironed, and he smelled … good. I’d started making my way back to the bar when a dark-haired stranger approached me. ![]() (Unlike him, I didn’t even know what I wanted!) But I understood that unless I got the hang of expressing my needs soon, we’d run into very serious problems. Had my future been decided? Would that be my life? Jay wasn’t a selfish man - I was a round-the-clock people-pleaser since childhood, I’d never learned to ask him for what I wanted. I pictured myself, decade after decade, supporting his hobbies, prioritizing his career, having sex the way he wanted it. What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t I happy? I felt certain I loved Jay my husband-to-be, and at the same time there was a part of me that resented him for wanting to tie me down.Īfter our wedding, we planned to move back to his hometown. I took deep breaths to try to ease the tightness in my chest. Instead, I hung out by the hand dryer, delaying my return to the bar. Why were they so eager to celebrate the end of my freedom? I wanted nothing more than to go to bed in a drunken stupor, away from their banter and laughter and high hopes for my future. Deep down, I felt jealous of their carefree, single lives. My friends were too rowdy with happiness, too excited on my behalf. I didn’t understand why, but I felt overwhelmed by a persuasive mix of anger and grief. In the quiet bathroom stall, I took my time. My legs wobbled underneath me when I stood up. But I wasn’t getting sloshed to celebrate my inevitable marriage-instead, I was drinking to escape the committee in my head that warned: “Ann! You’re not ready to commit!”Īn hour into the drinking fest, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. My friends cheering around me and my desperation to get bombed made it look like I was in the mood to bask in the big party. She winked and told the bartender to keep ‘em coming. I switched from strawberry daiquiri to vodka. ![]() After we sat down, I didn’t sip my drink-I gulped down cocktail after cocktail to take the edge off my uneasiness which was growing every second. My friend Tina said, “Last night out before you’re Mrs._!” Tina knew me as a party girl. I felt anxious before my girlfriends and I had even arrived at the bar. To date this was the biggest mistake of my life. I cheated on my husband at my bachelorette party.
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