This isn't our wedding, right?

Ah, weddings. What jubilant occasions. The joining of two families and all that jazz. At the tender age of eleven I was a bridesmaid in the wedding of my uncle and his second wife. They decided it would be cute to pair me with her nephew, Jeremy. Oh Jeremy. Three years my junior, half a foot shorter (and that's saying something, considering I was, am, and always will be rather short.) and owning the sweatiest hands I had ever held (which doesn't say much, considering short, hyper girls weren't in high demand as 'girlfriends'). This boy soon attached himself to me, even when we weren’t supposed to be holding hands, walking down the aisle, and smiling like there was no tomorrow.

Let's rewind to the rehearsal dinner. Me, being my aloof eleven year-old self, looked down my nose at the children who were running around at my high-heeled feet. I was beautiful, I knew it, and I fully intended to flaunt it. Oh yes, I was a DIVA. We were lined up at the back of my grandparents’ church, and placed with our partners. A boy walked up to me and tried to hold my hand. I shook him off, and continued to wait for the handsome boy I was certain I would be walking down the aisle with. The matron of honor waltzed over and introduced us.

“Claire, this is my son Jeremy. You two get to walk down the aisle together!”
What? This was NOT the boy of my dreams. His hands were sweaty, and he had glasses! Remembering to be the sweet, innocent, and charming little girl I was good at pretending to be, I said
Hello Jeremy! I’m so excited to meet you, I’m sure we are going to have a super time!”
I like Pokémon. Do you like Pokémon?” came his response. I was not looking forward to spending the next 72 hours with this boy.

We made it through the rehearsal dinner without another problem. I was even starting to think it might not be so terrible after all. He seemed like a nice guy, and we were both excited about the wedding the next day. We parted ways, saying we would see one another in the morning. I woke up at 6:30 the next morning, pumped about getting dolled up. We went to the salon, and the hairdresser put what seemed like 300 bobby pins and an entire can of hair spray in my hair. We pulled up to the church, and I jumped out of that car as fast as was humanly possible with my hair extending a full six inches above my head. In the dressing room I let everybody compliment me on how beautiful I was, and raced off to greet Jeremy. When it was time to put on my dress, Jeremy decided that it was perfectly normal to follow me into the dressing room. I haven’t a clue where that idea came from, but I seemed to be the only one who disagreed with it. After that, I decided he was stalking me and that I would avoid him whenever possible. The ceremony went off without a hitch, and before I knew it I was dancing my heart out at the reception. I had almost forgiven Jeremy for his earlier slip-up when he planted a wet one on my cheek. After that incident, I talked my other cousin into dancing with me until Jeremy had to leave.

Believe it or not, Jeremy and I actually get along now. We have both learned from our experience. I learned that sometimes people need multiple second chances, and that boys dislike being slapped. Jeremy learned that stealing a kiss earned him a slap after trying it a second time. We both learned that to a little girl, walking down the aisle means getting married. No ifs, ands, or buts. His sister thinks we are married, and we plan on letting her think that.