Both pairs of sunglasses have gone missing. Trash piles up, the gas tank empties. The umbrella remains in the car parked in the middle of a downpour. The rent goes up, the raise passes by. The dress you bought full price after lusting over it for months goes on sale not one week later.
When the wedding invitation arrives in the mail, it proudly proclaims: You’re presence is requested at the wedding of your younger sister to the man you thought you loved.
You send a note with the rsvp:
They seat you with the children, but the chicken fingers taste damn good. You gotta find the thing that works for you, you hear a bartender say. The guest demands vodka then vomits on the ballroom carpet just as the money dance starts.
A little boy holds out his hand; for a dance?
For dollar bills.
You pick one from the floor then rip it in front of his face and press the shreds in his palm.
He cries, you cry. The guest at the bar cries. The bride and the groom cry. This is the happiest day of your lives.
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