wedding draft 1

I gleamed promisingly as he unlatched the lid of my velvet case.  He sucked in his breath, admiring my golden curves and the tantalizing sparkle of happily ever after that I stood for.  A soft, strangled noise escaped his throat at the sight of my price tag, but he quickly recovered, masking it as a whistle.  The saleslady, Estella, who always secretly changed from her heels into pink crocs as soon as her boss left, snapped the lid of my box closed.  It would be the last time I saw her.

I sat in the bottom of his sock drawer and twiddled my metaphorical thumbs.  Once, I heard raised voices and the slam of a heavy door.  He came into the room and flicked open my box.  I shone radiantly, and he watched me for a moment before gingerly closing the lid.  He placed me back in his drawer, between his wool hiking socks that had holes in two of the toes. 

On April 16th I was finally removed from my socky prison and taken from my box.  A pink boy named Chester clumsily helped the groom attach me to the silky pillow on which I was to wait.  It was a misty spring afternoon, and I relished the delicate scent of wet flower petals and pollen.  As I peered about, I noticed that guests were mulling happily, drinks in hand, on a lawn!  Where was the church?  I had always dreamed of a proper wedding, a church with marble pillars, and champagne flutes.  Where were the pews, the organs?  What kind of a ring did they think I was?

Chester was a real pest.  He had a soft side for the deviled eggs that had been arranged on the surrounding picnic tables as appetizers.  He was on his fifth when a pin striped fellow wearing a beautiful emerald brooch approached him.  I leaned towards the edge of my pillow, trying to get a better view of the lovely jewel.  It was Sariah!  She had been sold just a month after I arrived, but not before I had fallen madly in love with her.  I needed to talk to her, to see her.  She was looking the other way, staring at the guests absentmindedly.  She was perfect, shiny, radiant.  I needed to get her attention.  I slipped to the end of my pillow, trying to catch her eye, but at the same time, Chester reached for his sixth egg.  His hand dipped low, and I plummeted into a foamy cloud of egg.  From my yolky bed, I heard the gentleman that was wearing Sariah chide the boy for not being in place yet.  The boy muttered something indignantly, but complied, dutifully shuffling off.  The last thing I saw as I was lifted high into the air and swallowed whole was the hand which bore me.  It was cuffed in a sleeve of pink pin stripe.