“I Brought My Date to a Wedding — He Brought a Ferret”
Let me just preface this by saying: I’ve made some questionable decisions when it comes to dating, but this one? This one left me rethinking everything — including how I define the phrase “emotional support animal.”
It started like any normal swipe-right success story. His name was Cory, and his profile had the perfect balance of humor, flannel shirts, and beard. We messaged for a couple of weeks. He was witty, asked actual questions, didn’t open with “wyd,” and claimed he made killer homemade waffles — so obviously, I was intrigued.
When I got invited to my cousin’s wedding, I didn’t want to go alone. So I asked Cory if he’d be my plus one.
He replied, “Only if I can bring my little guy.”
I thought he meant a younger brother, or maybe a friend he was responsible for.
I was wrong.
So wrong.
The Arrival
The wedding was at this adorable vineyard with strings of lights, linen tablecloths, and those overpriced mason jar cocktails. I wore a teal dress and low heels because I wanted to be elegant but ready to sprint if needed (thank God for that foreshadowing).
Cory showed up in a decent suit…
…and a baby sling.
Inside the sling was a live ferret.
With a bowtie.
Named “Chardonnay.”
You know when your brain tries to protect you by pretending something isn’t real? Mine did that. I stared at the ferret. It blinked. I blinked. Cory patted it like it was a Yorkie and said,
“He gets anxious if I leave him at home.”
Anxious? Bro, I was anxious.
The Reception (A.K.A. Ferret Chaos)
To be fair, Chardonnay was shockingly chill at first. People thought it was a weird purse. One guy tried to compliment it before realizing it had whiskers and a pulse.
But the moment the appetizers came out, all bets were off.
Chardonnay lunged from the sling, landed on a table, and dove head-first into a plate of mini crab cakes. Guests screamed. Someone yelled, “It’s a rat!” A flower girl started crying.
Cory chased him under the dessert table, knocking over a tower of cupcakes like a clumsy action hero. I stood there, mortified, while Aunt Linda whispered, “Is this a therapy animal or a demon?”
The Toast
The chaos died down after Cory leashed Chardonnay to a chair with a shoelace and promised to “keep him under control.”
The best man got up to give his toast.
Halfway through, Chardonnay pooped on the floor.
Right next to the bride’s custom heels.
During a live stream.
To her relatives in Italy.
I wanted to crawl into the nearest wine barrel and roll myself into the countryside.
The Exit
By the time we got to the “electric slide,” Chardonnay had become a legend. The DJ gave him a shout-out. The ring bearer offered to trade his toy dinosaur for him. My grandmother pulled me aside and said,
“If he has this much baggage on day one, imagine year ten.”
Cory walked me to my car and said,
“We should totally go out again — maybe bring Chardonnay to brunch?”
I smiled politely, got in my car, blocked his number before I reached the end of the driveway, and made a silent vow:
Never again.
Moral of the Story:
Don’t ask follow-up questions when someone says “Can I bring my little guy?”
It might be a brother.
It might be a ferret.
It might be the weirdest date of your entire adult life.
