Deuteronomy 22:5

I stabbed my salad with my fork and thought about tuxedos.

It wasn’t the salad’s fault. It was exactly what I’d asked for: Romaine, not iceberg, with four tomato wedges and some radish slices, nothing else, no dressing.

This was different than everyone else’s salad, so of course I was being difficult. But I could see that everyone else’s salad was drenched in vinaigrette, and had those weird little carrot curls that just would not do.

I was upset about tuxedos. The wedding invitation had specifically instructed all men to wear them, and all women to wear solid-colored ball gowns, in a strong primary color.

I’d gotten past that part. And it wasn’t the cost of rental that bothered me: I have money. I’m comfortable in that regard.

It’s the smell of chemicals they use to clean them. It’s the feeling of stiffness in the shirt, the way the jacket hangs heavy on my shoulders, the way the shoes squeeze my feet. It’s the morose contrast of the black against the white.

But that wasn’t even why I was abusing my hapless bespoke salad.

I could have managed through these inequities, but my excitement of being able to attend an event of this complexity and novelty without having to worry about how I was dressed had been crushed by the realization, on arriving, that other people hadn’t.

There were men in black business suits. Not tuxedos. There were even a few men in navy or brown suits, and one man wearing Crocs. Crocs!

Crocs, to a formal wedding!

There were women in fancy dresses that most certainly were not ball gowns, and some in pastels. The woman next to the man in Crocs was wearing a sun dress and sandals.

So first off, why was I suffering in this penguin suit if other people didn’t have to? But that was even a mask for my true annoyance, which is that I felt like, once again, I had failed to follow directions.

I’d followed the literal directions, of course, but that’s not the game society plays. The game society plays is that you have to guess how far from the spoken rules you’re allowed to be and still not get thrown out.

And here I was, yet again, in physical misery as I tried to play entirely within the rules, knowing that people were secretly judging me for being ever so compliant to silly expectations.

It just wasn’t fair.

And so I stabbed my salad and thought, bitterly, about tuxedos.