My best friend’s wedding: I guess this is growing up

One of those big, grown-up moments is about to sucker punch me in the face tomorrow, as I’ll attend a wedding not as a family member or family friend, but as a good friend of the bride and groom.

Wait, what?

Since when am I old enough to have a best friend get married?

I suppose should’ve known the Day of Inevitable Adulthood was coming once I got my first credit card application — addressed to “Mr.” — in the mail. Or maybe the day when I opened a checking account and deposited a couple thousand dollars (which has since all been pissed away, a credit to my non-adultness). Or maybe when I wrote that first check for more than $500 (car insurance) and felt a piece of my soul die. Or maybe when I first plopped a case of beer down next to the register and flashed my shiny new I.D. to the clerk (though the smug grin on my face knowing he, after scrutinizing the license’s every minute detail, could do nothing was a little childish). Yes, they were all clues, just like when Sara first told me she was engaged — clues I chose to shove into the junk drawer of my mind instead of placing them where they belonged. Maybe I’m afraid of adulthood.

Nah, I’m not afraid of adulthood. I’m just that eternal procrastinator who’d rather put it off for a little while longer so I can go jump in the lake with my clothes on or spill spaghetti down my shirt or laugh at fart jokes without feeling like I should be acting slightly more grown up. I’ve found college to be a great procrastination tool for adulthood (though the clock is ticking on that, too).

The inner shock, I’m sure, comes from the prospect of bearing witness to a childhood best friend’s vow to stay with the same guy for the next 80 years and my being nowhere near that kind of commitment myself. Sheesh, just the other day I wrote an emo post about not being able to ask a girl to dinner (granted, she’s not just any girl…). 

But in a way, tomorrow is the swan song for me and adolescence, because I think it’ll be the first time in my life I actually need to be an adult, and not just act the part to show the older folks how grown-up I am and to set an example for the youngins.

Now the question becomes, How do I act at this wedding? Do I have to watch my alcohol intake a little more religiously since I’m supposed to be an adult (the bride is a freakin’ year younger than me, for Chrissakes!)? Will I be asked if I have a girlfriend? Will there be whispers when I say I don’t (I say, Marge, a 21-year-old with no girlfriend? Sounds a little fruity to me…)?Will I be asked when I think my wedding will be? Umm … gee, ma’am, can I maintain a relationship for more than two weeks first? Now when I dance with the bride, it’s not the oh-look-how-cute, little-cousin-dancing-with-his-big-cousin thing I’m used to. If I make an ass out of myself on the dance floor after a few too many beers, it’s not the haha-little-guy-can’t-hold-his-booze thing. Man, growing up is harder than I thought. But at least this time I don’t have to conceal my beer drinking by popping some ice cubes in it or pretend I’m drinking a 7-Up instead of some way-to-sweet, pineappley rum thing. See? There’s always an upside.

In all seriousness, I’m thrilled for Sara and Kris. They’ve always made a helluva pair; it’s the type of relationship I hope I’ll enjoy someday myself.

Can I just say kudos to me for fitting two pop-culture references in the title of this post?

OK, back in character. I’m a real adult who goes to real adult friends’ real weddings. I’m a real adult who goes to real adult friends’ real weddings. I’m a real adult who goes to real adult friends’ real weddings.

Next they’ll tell me I need to set up an appointment and go to the doctor by myself.