By BROOKE FALVEY
“You’ll make a beautiful bride.”
With this one sentence I found myself caught like a deer in the headlights, en route to an unnecessary—and somewhat misguided—reality check from a stranger.
While you might think it sounds like a compliment, a backhand quickly followed.
After dishing out advice on what NOT to wear if I walk down the aisle (no strapless, sweetheart-necklines with an embellished bodice … apparently that look is so 2007), this matrimonial-focused stranger asked my age.
“I’m 31 next month,” I replied, causing her to practically choke on her canapé.
“The average age for brides is 29,” she spluttered, horrified that I had let an extra 24 months slip past without securing myself a groom and a happy ever after with 2.4 kids and a house with a white picket fence.
Apparently, without realising it, I had passed my prime.
Once again, my marital status had hijacked a conversation. I’ve had dinners disrupted with offers of blind dates, psycho-analysis performed over pancakes and been told I was too choosy over coffee.
Unfortunately, common decency means I rarely respond with the two word, seven letter phrase I’d often like to use.
Instead, I smile and nod while thinking about where to take my next overseas holiday or whether to splurge on a new leather jacket or Marc Jacobs handbag.