Perfect on Paper: The (Mis)Adventures of Waverly Bryson by Murnane Maria

Author:Murnane, Maria [Murnane, Maria]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2010-01-26T05:00:00+00:00

Table fifty-three was definitely a singles table. Fortunately, however, it wasn’t THE singles table. Hell, the wedding was so huge that for all we knew there could have been an entire singles dining room and dance floor. The room was so enormous that I couldn’t even see where Cynthia and Dale were sitting, much less Jake. I focused on the wine glass in front of me instead.

From my initial superficial sizing up of my male tablemates, that glass was the only thing my lips would be touching that night. We all introduced ourselves and slid into the standard wedding small talk:

“So how do you know the bride?”

“Oh really? Then do you know (insert name here)?”

“So how do you know the groom?”

“Oh really? Then do you know (insert name here)?”

“So where are you from?”

“You are? Then do you know (insert name here)?”

“So where did you go to school?”

“You did? Then do you know (insert name here)?”

“So have you ever noticed how small talk inevitably morphs into the name game?” I said to no one in particular.

One thing that was a little awkward about our table, and the other thirty-five hundred in the room, was the flowers, which were white and beautiful and everywhere. And everywhere included the centerpiece, which was a huge globe of white petals about two feet in diameter. It was so big that it blocked my view of the people directly across the table, and theirs of me. Given that clearly no expense had been spared to make the wedding perfect, I have no idea how this rather important detail had somehow been overlooked.

Anyhow, back to the edible details. The entrées were spectacular: a choice of lobster, chicken, or sirloin, plus jasmine rice and a grilled vegetable medley lightly topped with a sweet cinnamon glaze, and the most delicious, thickest bread I had ever tasted. I ate everything on my plate. And the flowing wine was a nice social lubricant for our table of virtual strangers. Despite the visual impairment, we managed to engage the entire group in a hearty conversation that flowed from sports and books to movies and political scandals.

Then things shifted gears, and the real fun began.

Hank Fishman, a stocky, balding coworker of Dale’s, stood up and raised his glass. “Ladies and gentlemen of table fifty-three, I propose a slight change of subject to spice this party up.”

“What did you have in mind?” A curly-haired blonde named Dawn leaned around the centerpiece to make eye contact with him.

Hank took a sip of his wine and set it down on the table. “Well, since we’ve broached the general subject of dating, I suggest we delve into the more entertaining topic of dating disqualifiers. Shallow, plain, and simple.”

“Disqualifiers?” I said, leaning my head a foot to the right.

“Yep, things that will exclude any possible date from consideration, and the more superficial the better.”

“That sounds quite interesting.” Christopher Henson, a salt-and-pepper-haired friend of Cynthia’s, rubbed his hands together. “Who’s first?”

“I’ll take one for the team,” Hank said. “And

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