About the Author: Elle Turin is a writer living in Chicago in the company of her rather dashing companion, many tall buildings and a few empty bottles of wine. To contact her, get in touch with TKTC as she is most definitely a gun for hire.
Without Further Ado...
Gather ‘round boys and girls. I’m going to tell you a story about a bride named Bridezilla (I know! What are the odds?), her now-husband (named Cheating-Groom by his parents with what can only be morbid foresight) and how she single-handedly made me adverse to all weddings ever – including my own.
Part 1: The Engagement Announcement
“Cheating-Groom and I are engaged!” said Bridezilla, over the phone.
“Yay!” I say. “How’d it happen?”
Bridezilla tells me about their engagement trip (“I seriously called it that!” Giggle.) where they barely spoke to each other the entire time. He was too nervous and she was too excited. Sounds like fun.
With Bridezilla fully aware of what’s about to happen, Cheating-Groom takes her to the most touristy area of the city at 10pm on a freezing fall night. Who’s out on a freezing fall night in tourist country, you ask? The bums, of course. Including a bum with a bloody appendage who interrupted their engagement.
“Isn’t that typical?” Bridezilla says. “It’s SO us!”
“I do often associate your relationship with a mangled body parts,” I offer.
“So you ARE GOING to be a bridesmaid. I am so excited!”
I mean, I know we discussed this in elementary school, but I also told her that she could hand-sew her own gown for my wedding. Are we supposed to follow through with that too?
I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting engagement.
Part 2: The Wedding Plan – Here, There, Everywhere
After I agreed to be a bridesmaid, Bridezilla started thinking about where she would like to have her wedding. Her family is in Familyville. His family is in Cheating-Groom-Town. Why not have two weddings? Even better, make it three!
“So, I think we’ll have a beach wedding in Cheating-Groom-Town on an island,” Bridezilla says, “after which we’ll leave immediately for our honeymoon. Then we’ll have the reception at Cheating-Groom’s parents’ garden a few months later. And after that, we’ll let my parents host a downtown reception in Familyville.”
“Hold. Order is wedding-honeymoon-reception
“Well, yeah. I want a beach wedding, a garden wedding and a downtown wedding, so this way, I’ll get all three! The party will never end!” Bridezilla seems proud of her idea. I, on the other hand, want to take her idea and shove it up her ass.
“So, again to clarify, you want me to fly to an island, rent a villa, rent a car, stand up in your wedding in a gown I’ll never wear again, and you’re not even gonna feed me dinner because you’ll be off on your honeymoon?”
“Yes! Won’t that be fun?”
“Oh, sure, but I can’t do that because I’m not made of money. So count me out.”
After a few months, when Bridezilla realized that my reaction was actually the general consensus for all of her guests, she changed her plans.
“Well, we’re just going have the wedding in Familyville,” Bridezilla concedes. “You can definitely be there since you have family there too.”
This is true. I have no excuse now. And it’s only going downhill from here.
Part 3: The Bridemaids Gowns
Bridezilla immediately decided that the dress color would be rich raspberry. “It’s very IN right now,” she tells me. This is especially amusing because Bridezilla wouldn’t know a trend if it crawled up her faded jeans, wrapped around her dirty t-shirt and smacked her in her freckled face. But I digress.
“Sure, I like raspberries,” I say. It’s true.
“Now, I really want to be a good bride,” Bridezilla says, “and I know money is tight right now, so I’m going to look for dresses that are $150 or less.”
Shoulda gotten it in writing.
After about a week, Bridezilla started moaning that she couldn’t find any raspberry dresses for under $150. As she is someone without a job, I don’t understand how she wouldn’t have time to find such a dress. But, alas, I know that one of my bridesmaid duties is to help Bridezilla, so I scour the web and department stores myself.
I send her about 50 links to dresses that all match the detailed description. She blatantly makes fun of some of them – totally missing the point: This is not some crazy, Holy-Grail type of task.
After a good six months, I get a random e-mail from Bridezilla titled, “Hello, Adoring Bridesmaids!”
I do not open it for three days.