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The driver hits the gas, and to fill the awkward silence that follows, I check my phone.
“Skunk,” I inadvertently say out loud.
I have hundreds of texts, missed calls, and social media notifications.
“Everything okay?” Art asks, sliding closer to me.
“Lots of messages.” I wave my phone.
“Ah.” He takes this as an invitation to check his phone, so I dive into mine.
Skunk.
Art wasn’t the only one snapping selfies and making videos last night. I did it too, and I posted them—after I was too drunk to understand the implications.
There are photos of us at each of the museums, but that’s salvageable. Some pics at Dick’s Last Resort and the Titanic exhibit—still not the end of the world. And—
Nope.
Here it is.
I posted pictures of us getting hitched—clearly taken by one of the stripper witnesses.
That means that everyone knows. My family and friends.
Even if I were to get that annulment, the worst of the damage is done.
With a heavy heart, I read the first message, which happens to be from Honey:
Married??? Seriously? How good did that thong smell? Call me immediately.
A text from Blue came shortly after that:
Holy matrimony!!! I mean, I like my Eastern European men as much as the next girl, but don’t you think that was an itsy-bitsy-bit too fast? Call me, or I’ll hack your phone and speak out of its speaker.
Gia wrote on Facebook. Being a performer, she keeps a presence there religiously:
I totally called it. This is how I thought Project BS would end, just maybe not this soon. I demand details.
And so on and so forth.
Even my parents are in the loop. In all caps, Mom tells me how happy she is, and then lectures me on the importance of multiple orgasms, especially on your wedding night.
Gee, thanks.
Dad’s message is the most ominous:
Congrats! See you and your new hubby soon.
I drag the phone away from my face. “My parents might be coming to town.”
Art looks up from his own messages. “That’s great. I’m looking forward to meeting them.”
Huh. Famous last words.
* * *
For the rest of the way to our plane seats, I field the messages from my peeps. Just as we take off and before I lose reception, I get to a text that came in much earlier yesterday, about the time I was massaging Art in the banya.
