Daisies & Denim

T H E B E G I N N I N G

T H E  B E G I N N I N G ...

As I stood there waiting for my sister to walk through the double doors at the head of the theater/ballroom, Dean (my sister’s boyfriend, soon to be fiance) was jumping around with his stupid guitar, in an attempt to calm down before she actually showed up.

Honestly, this whole proposal thing made me feel like a sap for coming (since I was a member of the single pringle club).

But of course, mom and dad insisted that I be there when my sister accepts the ginormous diamond ring that Dean worked his ass off for.

The poor guy worked late night shifts to buy that specific ring, wrote a song about their entire relationship, called every single one of our family members asking for them to come, rented a ballroom and a theater stage, spent even MORE cash on tables and decorations for the room, spent two hours talking with my dad, waiting for his blessing (instead receiving a rage rant on marriage), then bought signs for us to hold and walk around her as she cried her pretty brown eyes out.

Basically, hundreds of dollars were spent on this cliche, "magical proposal on YouTube" kind of proposal.

Don’t forget the bucket of tissues I was instructed to hand my sister.

That must’ve cost a fortune as well (note the sarcasm).

“Riley, you look upset,” Tanner said and clutched the balloons in his hand a little bit tighter as he sat down.

“No, my face is just naturally like this,” I snapped at my brother and put the bucket of tissues on the ground next to me.

Honestly, I’ve lived with her for 17 years (including the time before I turned one; I’m 16) and they wouldn’t let me hold one of the signs, which are probably one of the first things she's going to see when she walks in here.

Instead, they put me on tissue bucket duty.

My little cousins got to draw and doodle pictures on the signs, and then Dean ended up making me draw over all of them (because I was in art club, and won three art awards because I’m just that freaking grea- just kidding. I’m a doodle-on-a-napkin chick).

Why did my sister’s dear boyfriend want me to redo 20 signs?

Well, readers, it’s because a) we have a neutral relationship and b) the end product of each and every sign ended up looking pretty damn demented after he let the little kids take charge with sharpies and other colored permanent markers.

And guess what?

I didn’t even get to hold one of the damn signs.

“Okay, what is it, Riley? I know you’re pissed off.”

Praise the lord.

At least someone understands me.

“TISSUE DUTY!! THEY PUT ME ON GODDAMN TISSUE DUTY!” I screamed and kicked the tissue bucket over, earning the attention of everyone around me.

“Riles, you might want to pick that up-” Tanner attempted to talk to me, but it didn’t really work.

Partially because I wasn’t listening and mainly because I never do.

That’s why you shouldn’t ever trust me with anything.

I shoved past him and opened the doors then walked out of the room, completely done for the day.

Maybe I was PMSing? It had to be.

Nothing gets me in a mood like this.

I sat down in the blueish carpeted hallway, and crossed my arms like the child I was inside.