You know what feels like a friggin esteemed position? Being a flower girl. That is the title to nab for little girls everywhere. I totally remember being a flower girl with my sister and gloating around the other little girls at the wedding, who were just guests. To be simply a guest was absolutely nothing in comparison to the bounty of joy that befell any flower girl. When D.W. from “Arthur”, and Kelly, Barbie’s little sister, got to be flower girls and save the day in the midst of wedding disasters, I envisioned a similar fate for my sister and myself.
Not only would we expertly scatter petals, but we would also save the bride from a rogue
dog with muddy paws. We would walk evenly and briskly, and throw ourselves in the bride’s path if ever the pesky ring bearer, from the other side of the family— ugh, got out of line. (No big deal, but Haley and I were flower girls five times. Everybody wanted us.)
I loved being a flower girl because I genuinely thought that I was the focal point of the wedding— even with my sacrificial, throw myself in dog paw-harm’s way, spirit. I didn’t have the knowledge or capacity to assess what was really going on. The love, the promises, the significance of taking that step in a romantic relationship. Flower girls are super cute, but I have learned that they’re not the key point of a wedding.
Side note: At one of my weddings, the minister continuously screwed up the groom’s name. The groom’s name, pronounced ‘Mon-sewer’, was replaced by the word ‘Manure’. Yikes!
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