Kismet

The music was pounding and so was my head. The alcohol flowing through my veins helped me ignore the pain throbbing against my temple. Setting the glass of red wine back onto the stained tablecloth, I headed toward the dance floor, pulling on the bra part of my strapless bridesmaid gown.

I passed a group of people I had met the night before at the rehearsal dinner and could hear them talking. One girl named Yaz wore a hideously loud dress with large hot pink and yellow Hawaiian flowers plastered around the entirety of it. It was almost as obnoxious as she was. She had dark olive skin and black hair down to her curvy waist. And I’m being quite generous by using the word “curvy.” Many other words come to mind, but I’ll keep this politically correct.

She threw her head back flipping her long hair into my face. I spat it out. It tasted like hairspray.

“This was a nice wedding. Exactly how I’d want mine to be but, you know, without all that religious stuff.” Her nose was high in the air.

Missy nodded uncomfortably, trying to smile. She straightened out her crisp, white wedding gown and said meekly, “Well, uh…I’m religious. So, it’s not exactly silly to me.”

“Well compared to the Muslim religion it is. I just don’t get all of your traditions.
I mean, today really sucked for me, ya know?” she continued, “I just had to wait around while Mattie here took pictures and did all those groomsman things.” She grabbed the lanky groomsman around the waist and pulled him into her. “And I just know he missed me, too.”

Yeah, I thought, like a fratboy misses syphilis.

Hearing Bon Jovi being blared, I ran over to rescue Missy. “C’mon!” I yelled, “It’s our song!” I grabbed her hand and started pulling her to the dance floor, away from Yaz’s passive aggressive insults.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as my hips swayed to the music. “Oh my God,” she could barely hear me over the music, “Can you believe her?”

Missy nodded. “I know. It’s like this at every event. She just hates not being the center of attention.”

“Well, so do I. But I think I can take a backseat when it’s someone’s WEDDING day!” I spoke sarcastically and mockingly threw my short hair over my right shoulder in a “diva” like manner.

Just then Yaz entered the dance floor, dragging her boyfriend behind her with her left hand. With the right, she carried a glass of red wine. She walked unsteadily in platform based 4-inch heels. I could tell she was the type who wore heels a lot to impress people, but didn’t actually know how to walk in them. You know the type I’m talking about…they walk toe-to-heel while wearing them instead of heel-to-toe. As she got to the center, she turned to face her boyfriend and lost her balance falling ass first to the floor. With her legs above her head, her dress slipped up around her unmentionables and not only did I get a clear glimpse of her ass crack, but also of her thigh cellulite. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion when she looked up just as the red wine from her drink came splashing down into her face.

Missy ran over out of obligation and I followed closely behind. So to get a good photograph of the moment. She cursed as she stood. “Fuck!” she spat angrily, “Fuck this fucking dance floor to Hell!” She pushed her boyfriend aside and stormed off leaving the rest of us standing there stunned. And me, standing there smiling.

Missy turned to me, eyes wide. “Uh, what do I do now?”

I shrugged. “Dance?”

“Don’t I have to go say something to her?”

“Yeah, I guess that would be the polite thing to do,” I nodded. Missy turned to walk away. “Hey Missy…” I said before she got to far away.

She turned back around to face me. “Yeah?”

“Do Muslims believe in Kismet?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Because I think Yaz just met my good friend, Karma. And yes—Karma can be a bitch.”