It started as a joke—my mom saying she was tired of waiting for me to settle down. I brushed it off, laughed like it was just one of her dramatic comments. But then she did what only she could do: she spread the word through town that her son was ready to marry. Not dating. Not looking. Ready.
At first, I thought nothing would come of it. A few neighbors might tease me, maybe a blind date or two. But then, one Saturday, I opened my shop and froze. The entire street was packed. Rows upon rows of women in wedding dresses, bouquets clutched in their hands, veils catching in the wind. Dozens—no, hundreds—of brides standing shoulder to shoulder in front of my door.
People crowded the sidewalks, snapping photos, recording videos. Strangers cheered like it was some kind of bizarre festival.
And there, in the middle of all the chaos, was my mom. She had climbed onto a crate, her voice carrying over the noise, shouting like some kind of auctioneer. “My son is finally ready! He’s the most loyal, hardworking man you’ll ever meet. Step right up, ladies, step right up!”
I swear, I felt my soul leave my body. My shop—the little hardware store I had been running for five years—was supposed to be quiet on Saturdays. Instead, it looked like the set of a prank show. I wanted to melt into the floor.
I tried pushing through the crowd, waving my arms, telling everyone it was a misunderstanding. “This isn’t real! My mom was joking!” I shouted. But it only made things worse. Cameras swung toward me. Voices rose. The brides started calling out. “Pick me!” one shouted. “I already make a mean lasagna!” another yelled.
I darted back inside the shop and locked the door. My hands were shaking. Outside, the crowd roared louder, chanting my name like I was some kind of celebrity. My phone buzzed non-stop. Friends, cousins, even old classmates were texting me, sending photos and laughing.
For hours, I stayed inside, peeking through the blinds like a fugitive. The brides didn’t leave. Some set up picnic blankets on the sidewalk. Others sang songs, chanting about love and commitment. By evening, the street looked like a carnival. Food trucks showed up. Vendors sold heart-shaped balloons. Someone even set up a karaoke machine.
I called my mom, fuming. “What did you do?” I hissed.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” she said, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. “You’re getting free publicity. The whole town is talking about you!”
“Mom, they’re dressed as brides. They’re blocking the store. I can’t even open the door without being tackled.”
“Well,” she said calmly, “maybe one of them is the one. Don’t knock it till you try.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I spent the night in the back room, listening to the muffled noise of laughter and music outside. By morning, I thought it would be over.
But when I unlocked the door, the crowd had doubled. There were news vans now. A drone buzzed overhead. My face was plastered on a banner that read: “The Town’s Most Eligible Bachelor.”