Every year, I wait until the very end of wedding season to take down alllllllll the invitations from my fridge. My once cluttered fridge has some breathing room, my once over-used magnets are now free (every year I think I need to buy more magnets, every year I somehow make it work).

Every year I take my carry-on – which has permanently lived in the corner of my room for the summer, always in a state of unpacking or repacking – and gleefully stick it in the garage. It’s time for it to gather some dust; it’s time for me to get some rest.

And, every year, I write a blog post. It started the first summer I went to 5 weddings – which felt laughably ridiculous – and I was in this new, weird grove of writing about singleness on the internet. The next summer I found myself in the in the same exact place: 5 weddings, 0 dates. So I wrote one again. And again.

And forever? We’ll see…

Every year, I write about the cringe-worthy moments (getting seated with your ex, YIKES) and I write about the funny things that always seem to happen to me and I write about how tra la laa weddings alone aren’t so bad, tra la laa weddings while single can be fun, tra la laaaaaaaaa it’s fine, people. We’re fine.

Except that, this year was different.

This year, wedding season was hard. Read More