The first wedding I ever attended I was three. I was also the flower girl. My dad’s younger sister was getting married to a really sweet and fun man. I was excited because I was the flower girl.
My mom made my dress. It was long to my feet, but it didn’t twirl. It was white with tiny pink rose buds. Around my waist were two thin pink ribbons. I was adorable with blue eyes and curled blonde hair.
But I was barely three. After I had done my duty, I was to walk back to my mom who was suppose to be sitting on the side waiting for me. She wasn’t there. Some usher had moved her. But I knew what I was suppose to do, and I saw my mom raise her hand so I could find her. As I started down the stairs, a firm hand pressed on my shoulder. I looked up at the face of my youngest aunt who sternly shook her head. I pointed to my mom, and my aunt shook her head.
So I stood there. Bored. Oh so bored. Grown-ups talk to much. I never stood for so long. I sat. Then I laid down. Then I decided I wanted to see my new shiny black shoes. Hey, my feet look like they’re walking on the ceiling. I wonder what it would be like walking on the ceiling.
Everyone at church watched as two Mary Jane-d feet kicked in the air, just high enough for everyone to notice.
That is the part none of my little cousins forget to tell. They tell it with glee, especially to The Husband, especially when I brought him home for the first time.
Hey, I was three. I was adorable. And I can still wrestle you all to the ground.