Walk Through Hell For weeks, I agonized about a wedding I'd committed to attending with my boyfriend. It was the first time I would meet almost all of his extended family, and I had to be on my best behavior (which is difficult when you're ready to murder your beloved for eating a a French fry).
When it finally arrived, it was every bit as painful as I'd expected: I avoided the open bar, buffet-style dinner and cake table all night and instead choked down food from the premeasured Tupperware containers that I'd smuggled in.
To distract me from the fact that I was one of the few sober people at the party, I hit the dance floor hard. But after almost two hours straight of dancing, my body begged for food and I'd already finished my allotted food for the night. There was nothing else to do but dance through my hunger and exhaustion.
Finally, my boyfriend announced we were heading back to the resort/casino where we were staying for the evening. I couldn't wait to crawl into bed. But instead of going back to our room, we hit the slots with the other wedding guests. Everywhere I looked, posters of mouthwatering dishes taunted me. Even the overwhelming scent of cigarette smoke couldn't drown out the kitchen's fumes. I felt pathetic as I fought back tears and begged my boyfriend to return to our room so I could sleep through the hunger. Without judgment, he escorted me back to our room while I shielded my eyes with my hands the entire time.
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