And the Garter Kept Going Higher...

... which was alright had I worn stockings and a longer dress.

Last Sunday, my dad's cousin tied the knot at the Fernwood Gardens, a greenhouse wedding hotspot somewhere in Visayas Avenue. A beautiful place, the reception is marked with beautiful lush plants and a symphonic man made waterfall creating an exotic, tropical atmosphere.

The itinerary of the night was pretty trimmed down and was a very intimate and simple gathering. I would've considered the whole reception well, before the elated emcee began calling single men and women up front for a little bachelor-bachelorette pageant. Not being a fan, I would've easily escaped ignored - but I feel that since we were seated closer to the front, I was doomed.

To select, the bachelor who can blow the smallest balloon will technically "win", while the rest would be eliminated (weak lungs!); while the bachelorettes would have to play musical chairs around the "winning" bachelor and the first ones to sit on his lap would be eliminated. (God knows how many times I tried, but the emcee just won't give me the credit I deserve).

To make the story short, I was the "privileged" girl who the bachelor, (who I cannot seem to remember the name, just that it starts with the letter J, i think) among three remaining girls, picked simply because I smelled better than the other two contestants. And the rest was history.



To end the game, the bachelor had to give me three kisses - mimicking wherever the groom kisses his bride. Forehead. Cheek. Neck. (The first two were fine, but the last was a bit, well..)

As prizes for being such a sport, they rewarded each of us with Starbucks gift certificates and an additional bouquet of flowers for me (which my brother happened to need the next day for school, talk about stroke of luck.)

I returned the garter to the bride though, as instructed by my aunt.. But my dad told me I should have kept it.