It had nothing to do with Nicolette, really. I hadn't been invited to her wedding reception. She'd said 'I'd love you to be at the ceremony. It would mean so much to me.' I hadn't wanted to go. But I didn't want to be the bad one. I got there late and sat up the back of this grand church, listening to the bells ringing, telling the city that Nicolette was getting married. I watched her walk down the aisle, with a long white train behind her wedding dress, like a wannabe princess. I was so far down the back, I couldn't see her husband properly, but he looked like her sort. Their vows reminded me why we were no longer friends. In the back pew opposite me was her ex-boyfriend, a musician who became a Catholic monk. I thought perhaps Nicolette did this to him, but I couldn't have been sure. Rumour had it that the guy wouldn't even wank, because every drop of semen was for God. So there I was in this grand church, opposite the Catholic monk, and I had my own spiritual epiphany, that my heart had become snagged in someone's fly. All that went pear-shaped anyway. Yesterday he said his last goodbye. I'm getting a cold-sore. I put tea tree oil on my lip, but some things just don't heal naturally. Today Nicolette came to visit me. She'd been to someone else's wedding. She wanted to pop in on her way back and say hello. She was wearing double pink; a pink dress, with a pink jacket around her shoulders like a middle aged woman. Her husband's face looked well fed. There was pink trim around the collar of his polo shirt. They were almost matching. She talked and laughed and I remembered why I despised her. She said, 'thanks so much for coming to my wedding. It was so nice ... you were the first person that I saw when I walked in.' And I stared back at her. Speechless. It all started and ended with Nicolette.
