Weddings are supposed to be about love, unity, and, if you’re lucky, a decent open bar.
I thought that was all I’d be dealing with when I accepted the groom’s invitation.
I didn’t anticipate Cheryl (a guest of the bride’s brother).
Cheryl wasn’t just obnoxious; she was exhausting. And, she clearly had her eyes targeting the best man.
But, before the night was over, Karma would treat us all to a little ironic justice.
Champagne, Fairy Lights, and Cheryl’s Sparkly Wrath
There’s a particular kind of pressure that comes with being the solo guest at a wedding. People either assume you’re quietly tragic or brimming with mysterious charm.
I’d decided to aim for the latter, armed with a simple but elegant dress, my best small talk, and a silent vow to avoid the dance floor.
The location vineyard was breathtaking—endless rows of vines, fairy lights strung from trees, and a sprawling tent where the celebration was already underway.
As one of the groom’s friends, I didn’t know many people here, but weddings are full of strangers bound together by obligation and champagne. It wasn’t hard to blend in.
Until Cheryl.
I first noticed her near the gift table, inspecting a wrapped box with the intensity of a jeweler appraising a diamond.
Her dress—a dazzling concoction of sequins and questionable taste—caught the light so dramatically I was surprised it didn’t set off a fire alarm. When she turned, her gaze landed on me with the precision of a hawk spotting a rabbit.
“Hi! You’re with the groom, right?” she asked, her smile a little too wide to be genuine. “I’m Cheryl.”
The way she said it made it clear I was expected to recognize her name. I nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.”
Her eyes dropped to my dress, taking in its understated simplicity. “Oh, I love how… effortless your look is,” she said, tilting her head. “So refreshing to see someone not trying too hard.”
And so it began.
I smiled tightly, mumbled something noncommittal, and excused myself to grab a drink. But Cheryl, I would soon learn, wasn’t the type to let go of her chosen mark.
Throughout the evening, she popped up like a bad penny, her comments growing bolder and louder with each pass. The passive-aggressive remarks about my outfit were just the appetizer.
By the time she started commenting on my solo status—“It’s great that you’re comfortable being alone. So… independent!”—I was wondering if the open bar included tranquilizers.
Still, I held my ground, dodging her barbs with polite smiles and the occasional quip.
But Cheryl wasn’t just persistent.
She was competitive, and it was clear she wouldn’t stop until she’d scored a win—whatever that meant in her warped mental scorecard.
Sharks in Sequins
As the evening wore on, Cheryl’s antics became harder to ignore.
At dinner, she monopolized the bride’s family table, loudly recounting a story about a “high-profile” event she claimed to have attended.
During toasts, she “accidentally” interrupted the maid of honor with a loud laugh, earning disapproving glances from guests.
By the time the DJ announced the first dance, Cheryl had already commandeered the evening in her mind.
And when she spotted me chatting with a group of the bride’s friends near the dessert table, her next move was predictable.
“Well, there you are!” she trilled, appearing at my elbow like a bad plot twist. “I was just telling Brad about how you came here alone. It’s such a… bold choice, isn’t it?”
I glanced at the bride’s friends, who shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. Cheryl grinned, clearly mistaking their silence for approval.
I took a measured sip of champagne, holding her gaze. “Sometimes bold choices pay off.”
“Oh, of course!” she said, not missing a beat. “I mean, confidence is everything, right? Even if it’s, you know, a little unconventional.”
Her laugh was bright, artificial, and designed to fill the awkward silence. But this time, it didn’t work.
The bride’s friends exchanged glances, a few rolled their eyes.
Cheryl, sensing the shift, quickly changed tactics. “Anyway, I’m heading to the dance floor. Maybe I’ll see you there—if you’re feeling brave!”
She flounced off, her dress scattering light like a rogue disco ball.
One of the bride’s friends leaned in, her voice low. “Don’t let her get to you. Cheryl’s… well, Cheryl.”
I smiled, grateful for the reassurance. “She’s certainly memorable.”
As the night wore on, I focused on the moments that mattered—the groom’s toast, the couple’s radiant first dance, and the quiet camaraderie of new friends. But Cheryl’s presence was a storm cloud that refused to dissipate.
It wasn’t until the bouquet toss was announced that the night took its turn toward the unforgettable.
Cheryl, sensing one last opportunity to steal the spotlight, marched to the front of the group, determined to make it her moment.
Roses, Rug Slips, and Redemption
The bouquet toss was the kind of moment everyone lived for at weddings—unpredictable, a little ridiculous, and, if you were lucky, incredibly entertaining.
Cheryl, of course, had decided it would be her crowning moment.
She marched to the center of the lineup, barking a bright, “Good luck, everyone!” that implied no one else had a chance.
Her stance was more defensive lineman than elegant wedding guest, and the other women shifted awkwardly, trying to avoid getting caught in her orbit.
The bride grinned mischievously as she prepared to toss the bouquet. “All right, ladies—here we go!”
The room hushed as she raised the bouquet high, counting down. “Three… two… one!”
The bouquet soared through the air, a soft blur of roses and greenery. Cheryl sprang upward with all the determination of someone reaching for a million-dollar prize.
Then it happened.
Her heel slipped and her momentum betrayed her. Time seemed to stretch as her arms flailed in a desperate attempt to recover, but gravity had other plans.
With a loud thud, Cheryl landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor, sequins glittering under the lights.
The bouquet landed gently several feet behind her, caught by a startled bridesmaid who looked like she’d stumbled into the spotlight by accident.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Guests froze mid-gasp, wide-eyed, as they tried to decide whether it was safe to react. Then I stepped forward.
“Well,” I said, crouching down beside Cheryl, keeping my tone breezy, “you certainly didn’t miss your chance to make an impression.”
The laughter started as a ripple, quickly growing into a wave.
The tension melted away as even Cheryl let out a reluctant chuckle. Her cheeks flushed, but her expression softened, and she muttered, “Guess I really went for it.”
I held out a hand to her. “Full commitment—gotta respect that. Come on, let’s get you back on your feet before someone live-tweets this.”
She took my hand, letting me help her up, and I adjusted her dress discreetly while brushing off the worst of the glitter now decorating her like confetti.
Cheryl stood, swaying slightly but composed enough to flash a weak smile at the bride, who was still laughing so hard she could barely stand.
“You okay?” the bride asked between giggles.
“Fine,” Cheryl muttered, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Good,” the bride replied, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Because that was the best bouquet toss I’ve ever seen.”
The crowd erupted again, the warmth of their laughter filling the room as Cheryl retreated to a chair, clearly mortified but no longer the villain of the story.
Before the laughter had completely died down, a warm voice broke through the crowd. “That was quite a line,” it said.
I turned to see the best man standing a few steps away, his smile easy and confident. “Quick thinking under pressure,” he continued.
“Weddings bring out the best in me,” I quipped, brushing off imaginary dust from my hands.
“Could I take you to dinner next week?” he asked.
The surrounding guests, still gathered from the bouquet toss spectacle, froze for a moment before murmurs of approval and knowing smiles spread through the group.
Cheryl, seated nearby, visibly stiffened. Her mouth opened slightly as if to respond, but no words came.
I glanced at the best man, his smile unwavering, and felt a grin tug at my own lips. “Sure, why not?”
“Perfect,” he said, nodding as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll find you later to figure out the details.”
As he walked away, the energy in the room shifted again, this time buzzing with whispers and amused glances.
Cheryl’s gaze burned into the side of my head, but I kept my focus on the bride, who was grinning like she’d just witnessed a rom-com come to life.
Dancing, Diplomacy, and New Beginnings
The mood had lightened even more after Cheryl’s misstep, and the best man’s impromptu invitation seemed to be the final spark that turned the evening into a true celebration.
One of the bride’s friends raised her glass to me. “That line,” she said, grinning, “was perfect.”
“It had to be,” I replied lightly. “The silence was getting dangerous.”
The bride joined us moments later, still glowing from the hilarity of the moment. “You,” she said, pointing at me, “are officially my new favorite person. That was masterful.”
“Glad I could help,” I said with a smile.
After the happy couple left, I stepped outside under the stars and reflected on how the night had unfolded.
Weddings, for all their pomp and chaos, have a way of revealing truths about people. Cheryl had stumbled—both literally and figuratively—but maybe she’d learned something.
And as for me, I’d walked in as a solo guest but left feeling unexpectedly connected, and maybe even a little heroic.
And that, I thought, wasn’t a bad ending at all.