“Give me the strongest shit you’ve got,” was your disgruntled reply to the bartender’s question. Fixing your dress, you sighed as you took a look around at the other occupants of The Filthy Kettle, the local pub down the street from the church where your ex-future husband was possibly still standing. Weird looks were thrown your way from every single other person in the pub, but then again, it wasn’t every day that a person rocked up to Friday’s happy hour wearing a $500 Vera Wang wedding gown.
“Make that two of the strongest shit you got,” a raspy voice said from next to your place on the stool. Turning around, a tall, dark and bloodshot-eyed man stood in a tuxedo, in the process of removing his bowtie. He turned around to face you and smirked. “Bit underdressed for the pub, aren’t we?” You both looked at each other for a second, then laughed, shaking your head at he coincidence that not one, but two people had left their partners at the altar in the same day. “Did you also…” You trailed off, not wanting to make any assumptions. “Yeah, I chickened out. Couldn’t deal with the whole commitment thing.” He completed your sentence, and as you both began to spill out your tragic failures of love, you felt a warm comfort spread through you. And to this day, you don’t know whether it was the alcohol, or the circumstances, but you just knew that Friday’s happy hour at The Filthy Kettle in your wedding gown with a complete stranger was better than the wedding that might have occurred if you hadn’t run away.
BLURB NIGHT?? IDK