“Hmm… chicken or fish? Chicken? Or fish? Ugh, why is it that all of my friends are getting married?” Alisa threw down the latest invitation to another friend’s wedding onto her black lacquered coffee table. Of all of the questions she should be asking herself about her life right now, the biggest one she was faced with was the dilemma of what plate she’d like at the reception to follow’s sit down dinner.
“Well, guess I’ll have to take my black dress down the dry cleaners tomorrow,” she said resolutely to her overweight orange tabby. It took the opportunity of mail being thrown at it to decide that the window sill would be a much calmer place to relax than the coffee table. “Who likes to stand out at one of these things anyways?”
Alisa, a standard 20 something, was three years out of college, four states away from the one she grew up in, and five minutes away from a steaming bathtub that would hopefully take away some of her stress. Yes, a hot soak in the tub, a good book, and a glass of wine would really be worthwhile right now. The day had started off well enough. Her morning coffee from the shop around the corner had been perfect. Her schedule hadn’t been that hectic, really. Even the cab ride home had been enjoyable, if a little smelly. But as soon as she had opened the little gold post office box marked 947 in the lobby of her apartment, that familiar chill crept over her, and she had known what she would find inside it.
It shouldn’t bother her as much as it did, but every few days, she received another invitation from another friend, with its ribbon and scrollwork belying her own impending doom. Today’s invitation came to her from a childhood friend, whose situation was a happy one, no doubt, but also one of which Alisa’s mother - if she didn’t already know - would soon hear of.
And there it was, the telltale sign that her mother had already found out about the joyous occasion.
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