For three months now, I’ve been ruminating about a single piece of paper that arrived in my letterbox.
Late last year, I received an invite to my friend Sarah’s* wedding (we went to school together, and have been relatively close ever since), and was excited to stick it on the fridge and look forward to a really special day.
But everything changed when I looked at the names at the top of the invite. Or, actually, the name.
Just mine.
I’ve been with my partner for 13 years. We live together, we don’t have any children, but I’ll just repeat: we’ve been together for 13 years. Sarah knows my partner. They probably wouldn’t go out for coffee just the two of them, but they’re at the same social events several times a year.
That’s why I was so shocked, after attending the engagement party together, to find that only I was invited to Sarah’s wedding.
At first, I thought it must have been a mistake. Surely my name implied my partner’s, and I just needed to clarify.
So I texted another friend who’s going to the wedding, and also has a partner she’s been with for about three years. She rang me immediately.
Apparently, while there are about 20 girls invited, none of our partners are welcome. Sarah and her soon-to-be-husband wanted to keep numbers down, invite more family, and just have close friends there.
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Fair enough, I thought.