It was the twelfth wedding invitation that drove me to doing it.
I'm sure Ashley meant well when, on my personalized invitation, she assured me that I shouldn't feel pressured to bring a date, that she'd just be happy to see me at her wedding. (After all, it's not her fault I've been single all my twenty-seven years. Oh, I've gone a date here and there, but none of them led to a second date. For some reason, I seem to attract the gents with whom I have nothing whatsoever in common.) It was just that it was the twelfth (TWELFTH!) wedding invitation I'd received in six months. I couldn't help it. I snapped. I was done. I was gone.
I hastily scribbled an apologetic note on my R.S.V.P., with the vague explanation that I planned to be out of the country that weekend. And it's true--I did. Of course, I hadn't planned to do any world traveling a half an hour before opening the envelope, but I certainly planned on it now. As I sealed the envelope, I flipped on my laptop and began the search for a cheap flat in Edinbourgh, Scotland, and posted an ad for a subletter on Gregslist. I knew I needed more than a vacation.
A month later, with everything we owned sold or stored in my old bedroom at my parents' house, my dog and I were headed through international customs at Heathrow International Airport. In her crate, waiting to be let out, Lilly still snored. I, on the other hand, shook with excitement. A short train ride to go, then our new life would begin!