Sitting in my living room staring at the bride-to-be; ‘I wonder if she is really happy’, I think to myself. A smile creases her face as she turns to look at me. Her facial expression got very serious as she stood up to walk towards me. Standing in front of me she bends down to rest upon her knees, grabbing my hands. I see a tear fall down her cheek. “What’s wrong, sweety?” I ask while she brings my hands up to her mouth as she kisses them softly. “Are you really happy?” She asks while looking up at me. “I’m happy”, I say softly while she continues to look up at me. “If you wasn’t; would you tell me?” she asks as she scoots up on the couch next to me. “Yes, I would tell you.”

“Okay, it’s time for a game.” One of the girls yelled as she picked up a bunch of bags. “This is how it’s....” The voice faded off as I drifted off into my own little world. I just sat there, blankly thinking. My eyes start to water as I feel my hand being squeezed. I shake my head a little and look over at the bride-to-be sitting next to me. All the sudden she stands up and says, “I have a better idea than playing a bunch of games none of us really want to play.” All the girls in the room turn and stare at her. Looking at her a little dumbfounded I just listen. “There is a girl in this room that is so good at telling stories. I swear the girl can tell you any type of story you want to hear. And for some reason I want to hear one of them.” She stops, looks over at me and smiles. “And since it’s my party..” She pauses for a minute. Puts out her hand for me to grab and stands me up. “..I want to hear her tell a story. And not just any story. I want her to tell all of us ‘her perfect guy’.” I look over at her with a look on my face and say “please don’t make me do this.” “Oh come one..” I hear a girl say behind me. I turn around and see a friend I have had for years. “Do you all really want me to do this?” I say as I let go of my friends hand. “Yes! We do!” I hear my friend say sternly. I take a deep breath, then reply, “fine, but remember, you asked for it.”

So I begin...

“The perfect guy is so different in every girls opinion. The only thing I’ve ever noticed about it all is that they all have honesty in common. But “most” guys are liars, so it doesn’t usually work. To me, the perfect guy is simple. Taller of course, dark hair, bright eyes. Nice build; not extremely built, but not extremely thin.”

“What does he wear?” I hear someone ask. I turn toward them.

“Nicely dressed; slacks, nice dress shoes, button up collar shirts. Intelligent, good job. A high society type of job. One that when he walks out of his front door, people know his name. People look up to him. And when he walks out in the daylight, his head is held high. He is so proud of himself. He’s older, not over forty, though. But he is older than me. He’s worked for everything he has; and proud of every days wok.”

“What does he do?”

“What does he do?” I repeat as I walk over to a window and stare at the snow falling. “He’s a writer. A decent writer. The type of writer you’d love to be if you’re into writing. He’s happy to an extent, of course.” I softly touch the window as if to see how cold it is. I take a deep breath and continue.

“He’s close to his family. Not so close that if he had to leave he wouldn’t because of his family. But close enough to actually ask if they’d like to go with him.”

“Is he a momma’s boy?” The bride-to-be asked with laughter forming behind it. I turn around and look at her. “Is that actually a bad thing?” I look at her with a serious look on my face. “I-I-I was kidding, didn’t mean anything bad behind it.” She quickly said trying to fix the moment. I smiled and turned back toward the window. “Does he have any kids?” A girl proudly asks. “Kids.” I pause for a moment as if I’m thinking how to answer that. “Kids.” I repeat myself. I turn around and grab something to drink. “He lives in a penthouse. Do you honestly think he has any kids?” I take a drink, and sit down in a big comfortable chair, and put my feet up.

“Does he drink coffee?” My friend of six years asks.

I look at her kind of funny and say, “what does that matter?” I ask kind of off beat. “Well..” She started, “if he’s a die hard coffee drinker that is more likely because he doesn’t sleep right.” She says as she readjusts herself in her chair. “He drinks coffee, yes, but not in the habit type of way. He has to have a big cup in the morning, but only so he’ll...” Just as I’m about to finish that sentence the groom and some of his friends busts through the front door.

“Honey! Baby!” He said slurring his words. Tries to walk over to his fiancé and trips over the coffee table. “What the hell are you doing here?” The bride-to-be asks as her anger level starts to go up. “This is a day for us girls to have fun. Not for a bunch of ignorant drunk ass men to ruin it. So why don’t you all take your nasty asses away from here so we can finish our party.” She says as she walks to the door and opens it. “Yeah, the only reason you want us gone is so you can have your stripper.” He said to her as he falls to the floor. “No, the only reason I want you gone is because you’re drunk, you stink, and I don’t want to mess with you.” She said as she pushed him out on the porch and slams the front door. I look over at her, “you sure he’s the “one”?” I ask with a small smile. She smiles back, “no. But he’ll do.” We all just bust up laughing.

-Written by me.. more to come later on.-