My sister is engaged. If you don’t understand how horrifying
that sentence is, you’ve never met my sister. I swear, the minute
the ring found its new home on her finger, she turned from nice
sister to evil Bridezilla.
My sister is engaged. If you don’t understand how horrifying that sentence is, you’ve never met my sister. I swear, the minute the ring found its new home on her finger, she turned from nice sister to evil Bridezilla.
I’m not making this up. And yes, after she reads this I will probably be murdered by some sort of wedding accessory, like a cake knife engraved with the lucky couple’s initials. Look, the woman is crazy. Her wedding isn’t for a year, but already she’s evil. Pure, unadulterated, Bridezilla evil.
It started with the dresses. Seriously, the dang ring wasn’t on her finger two seconds and she was already at the bridal shop. For her this means that she goes to a shop and tries on every single dress there, takes a cell phone picture of it and then emails them to everyone on her contact list. Every time my cell phone tells me I have a new photo, I want to crawl inside a closet and scream.
Once she finishes trying on the dresses in one shop, she moves on to another. It’s a wonder she finds time to work or spend time with the groom-to-be. Fortunately, she called the other night with the earthshaking news that she finally narrowed her search to three dresses. One was simple and nice, the second was a bit fancier and frankly, needed more bosom than my sister can provide on her own and the third … well, the third was what is referred to in the wedding biz as “traditional with a full skirt.” In English that means “poofy as heck in case you’re bloated on your Big Day.”
Unfortunately, the picking of the bridal gown means she’s moved on to selecting the dreaded bridesmaid’s dresses. Without elaborating on her choice, let’s just say that bosom isn’t a big deal in our family. So the dress requires some, er, padding. And if that weren’t humiliating enough, the dress is in a color called “truffle.” Yeah, I didn’t know what color that was in the real world, either. Turns out truffle in bridal speak is actually brown. We’re going to look like Puffy Marshmallow Girl and the Four Doo-Doos.
Of course, it doesn’t end with the clothing choices. Over the past week I’ve received 17 phone calls pertaining to music. For Pete’s sake, who cares? Give out free champagne and everyone will do the Macarena to James Blunt. But the music questions don’t end there – there’s the whole question of DJ? Live band? iPod plugged into a speaker? Drunken best man and a karaoke machine?
But even the phone calls don’t compare to the 152 e-mails with links to possible wedding locations. Have I mentioned my sister lives in Florida, a state I’ve been to a grand total of one time? The only places I know are GatorWorld, the Everglades and some wild animal park. All those places sound good to me – but I think even the gators at GatorWorld would run and hide from this Bridezilla.
And then there are the daily e-mails with attachments of centerpiece photos. After a while, all the flowers looked the same. But when I said that to Bridezilla, she shrieked at me.
So far, I’ve only had one e-mail regarding the food, which is fine. Everyone knows the wedding food will stink anyway, so who cares what we are having? Just bring on that free champagne and the Tums® and everything will be just ducky.
Of course, I can say none of this to my sister. My sister believes that she is not only Queen for the Big Day; she is, indeed, Queen of the Entire Year Leading up to the Big Day. She also believes that no conversation with her is complete without at least 400 mentions of the wedding and/or the tremendous amount of pressure she is under to make it perfect.
I think I’m just going to forward her an e-mail with a Vegas wedding chapel link in it. Maybe Bridezilla will get the hint. Or maybe I should get used to looking like doo-doo.
