Your Drunk Bully Kisses You In Front Of Everyone

Okay, so you are not going to believe this. Like, seriously. Get ready for a story so bonkers, so "WTF did I just witness," that you'll need a second (or third, no judgement) cup of coffee. Remember Mark? You know, Mark, the guy who made my high school existence a living, breathing rom-com gone wrong?

Yeah, that Mark. The one who tripped me in the cafeteria more times than I can count. The one who "accidentally" spilled chocolate milk on my pristine white shirt (okay, maybe it wasn’t always pristine). The king of wedgies...need I go on?

Well, fast forward ten years. TEN YEARS! We're at Sarah's wedding – you know, Sarah, who finally snagged that ridiculously handsome doctor? – and there he is. Mark. Looking... actually, kinda good. I mean, sigh puberty did him right, I guess. Should I be admitting that? Probably not. But hey, we're being honest here, right?

I tried to avoid him, obviously. I mean, who wants to relive their awkward teenage years, especially when they involve projectile dairy and involuntary underwear adjustments? But fate, that cruel mistress, had other plans. She always does, doesn’t she?

He cornered me near the open bar. The open bar! Huge mistake on someone's part. Probably Sarah’s Uncle Barry, let's be real. Barry loves a good free-for-all. Mark already had a drink (or three) in hand, and his eyes were a little… glassy. Oh boy, here we go.

“Hey,” he slurred, that familiar voice somehow deeper, more… something. Deep, maybe. It’s hard to tell when someone’s about to re-enact the cafeteria scene. Did he even remember the cafeteria? Probably not. Drunk people. Bless their hearts.

“Mark,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. Think Switzerland. Think… yoga instructor. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” he said, swaying slightly. I swear I could smell the tequila from three feet away. "Listen, I... I wanted to say something." Here it comes, the apology. I'd waited ten years for this. Ten years of pent-up resentment, ready to be unleashed like a verbal ninja. Get ready for my carefully rehearsed speech, Mark!

He took a deep breath. “I…” He paused, looking around dramatically. "I always..."

Always what, Mark? Always secretly admired my impeccable taste in Lisa Frank stickers? Always regretted the chocolate milk incident? Always wished he had my amazing ability to parallel park? (Okay, that last one's a lie. I’m terrible at parking). What earth shattering revelation was coming?

He leaned in. Too close. Way, way too close. I could practically count the individual pores on his nose. Personal space, Mark! Learn it, love it, live it!

And then… he kissed me.

HE KISSED ME!

Right there. In front of everyone. Sarah's parents, my boss, that cute guy from accounting I’d been trying to impress – everyone. All witnesses to this bizarre, alcohol-fueled act of… what even was it?

My brain short-circuited. My meticulously crafted apology speech vanished like a puff of smoke. All I could think was: Did he just? Did that actually just happen? Am I dreaming? Should I pinch myself? (Probably not, that would just draw more attention.)

It wasn't a quick peck, either. No, no, no. It was a full-on, movie-style, probably-too-much-tongue-involved kiss. (Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. Slightly. But still! Too much!)

The room went silent. You could hear a pin drop. Or, more accurately, you could hear Sarah's mother gasp dramatically and probably mentally rewrite the seating chart for the reception. Thanks, Mark. Thanks a lot.

He pulled away, grinning like a maniac. A drunk maniac. "I always liked you," he mumbled, then stumbled off towards the dessert table, presumably in search of the chocolate fountain. Priorities, people. Priorities.

I stood there, frozen. Mortified. Utterly speechless. I think I actually saw a tumbleweed roll by. Okay, maybe that's another exaggeration. But the atmosphere was definitely… surreal. Was this revenge? Was it some bizarre, twisted form of apology? Was he just really, really drunk? (The answer to that last one is probably yes.)

What do you even do in a situation like that? Do you laugh it off? Do you slap him? (Tempting, but probably not the best look at a wedding.) Do you run screaming into the night? (Also tempting, but my shoes were really cute.)

I opted for a weak smile and a mumbled, “Well, that was… unexpected.” Unexpected?! Understatement of the century! That was like saying the Titanic had a minor plumbing issue.

Then I did the only thing I could think of: I grabbed another glass of champagne and went to hide in the bathroom with Sarah's cousin, who was currently crying about her ex. Misery loves company, right?

The rest of the night was a blur. I avoided Mark like the plague. I made small talk with distant relatives I’d never met before. I ate an obscene amount of wedding cake. And I replayed the kiss in my head over and over and over again.

So, yeah. That happened. My drunk bully kissed me in front of everyone at a wedding. Tell me your life is weirder than that. I dare you.

But the story doesn't end there, oh no. It gets even better. Or worse. Depending on your perspective, I guess.

The next morning, I woke up to a text from… you guessed it… Mark.

It read: "Soooo... about last night..."

Cue the dramatic music. What was he going to say? Was he going to apologize? Was he going to pretend it never happened? Was he going to declare his undying love for me? (Okay, that's highly unlikely. But a girl can dream, right?)

I took a deep breath and typed back: "Yes?"

His reply: "Did I make a fool of myself?"

I almost choked on my coffee. Did he make a fool of himself?! The understatement of the millennium! He had turned Sarah's perfectly planned wedding into a scene from a bad rom-com. A rom-com where the bully inexplicably develops feelings for the victim after ten years and several tequila shots.

I decided to be kind. Relatively speaking. "You might have had a little too much to drink," I texted back.

His reply: "Yeah, I kinda figured. So... about the kiss..."

Here we go again. Buckle up, folks. This is where things get interesting. Or potentially disastrous.

I braced myself and typed: "What about it?"

He wrote: "I don't remember it."

He doesn't remember it?! Are you kidding me? The kiss that shook Sarah's wedding to its very core? The kiss that made my awkward teenage years suddenly seem like a quaint little memory? He doesn't remember it?

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw my phone across the room. I wanted to hunt him down and make him re-enact the kiss in front of everyone again, just so he would remember it! (Okay, maybe that's a bit extreme.)

But I took another deep breath and reminded myself that he was probably still hungover. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit embarrassed. (A little bit? Probably a lot.)

So, I played it cool. "Don't worry about it," I texted back. "It wasn't a big deal."

Liar. Total liar. It was a huge deal. A ginormous, colossal, earth-shattering deal. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

He replied with a simple: "Okay. Thanks."

And that was it. The end of the conversation. The end of the Mark-kissing-incident saga. (Or so I thought. But that's a story for another time.)

So, what do you think? Was it a drunken mistake? A sign of repressed feelings? A karmic retribution for all the chocolate milk I had to endure?

I honestly have no idea. But one thing's for sure: Sarah's wedding was definitely one for the books. And I have a feeling that I'll be hearing about that kiss for years to come. Thanks, Mark. You're the best. (Or the worst. I can't decide.)

And now I need another cup of coffee. And maybe a therapist. Just kidding! (Mostly.)

But seriously, tell me what you think! What would you have done?