In just over six hours, I will be (asleep) on a plane to girl it up as a bridesmaid for my oldest friend—a woman with whom I shared Monty Python references, L.M. Montgomery books, and Bat Mitzvah family parties (oog). Last weekend I was also a bridesmaid, for a wonderful and treasured college friend whose now-husband rocks*. 2.5 months ago, I was my only sister’s maid of honor.
* He volunteered to follow her career to Norway should one opportunity come through, adding that if he couldn’t find a job in his field he just KNEW that town needed a good back-alley barbecue joint.
And you know what? I apologize to them all (one in advance). Because I love my friends, I’m happy to see them get married, I like a good party, but:
I am a bad bridesmaid.
Why?
1. Being a writer, I am invariably short on a. money b. time.
2. Formal wedding etiquette requirements are to me as Linear A.
2a. I don’t care enough about formalities to pick up on elements other people consider self-evident.
3. I’m a total selfish and cranky jerk.
Examples, gaffetacular:
- Four days later, it occurred to me that a bridesmaid is probably not supposed to leave the wedding 45 minutes early.
- Pre-wedding spa weekend for the girls or the couple? Let’s all meet up in some central geographic locale? Big night out on the town? I throw buckets of cold water on all such ideas. This earns me disapproving e-glares from the bridesmaids who feel no budgetary/time constraints (and live in cheaper housing markets [!]).
- Rehearsal dinner calls for “casual dress”. . . but it’s in Texas. Please, does that mean I can wear a cotton dress and Chucks?
- Which, by the way, I had no clue would not be appropriate attire for a Westchester bridal shower. Fortunately for my mother’s sense of propriety, she alerted me in advance. To be exact, I asked about dress code and she said “well of course it’s not like you were thinking of wearing your funky sneakers with your dress.” Um. Of course.
- Oh God not the curling iron not the curling iron!
- It didn’t cross my mind for a moment that a member of the younger generation would be expected to bring a gift to the shower. Thank you, big chain bookstore, for opening early on Sundays. (Don’t get me started on wedding gifts.)
- No clue what to do with this waffle-print, strapless, hot pink cotton robe that fastens above the boobs and features my initials monogrammed in a personalized font.
In short, if you want a bachelorette party that consists of sitting on the couch consuming fancy chocolate, cheese, and beer, I’m your woman. With leaps, bounds, insomnia, and enthusiasm I will happily make your entire wedding cake, drive it an hour south, and decorate it with roses to hide its figure flaws. I will even listen to a dozen music samples to help choose the wedding band. But dang, put me in a matching dress and I will surely let you down.
xx
djd
4. Instead of packing, I write on the internet.
Filed under: grouching | 4 Comments
I love you for making my wedding cake.
I love you for being you!
Well, you did help me choose the band and they kicked some serious ass.
I love my grouchy friend because she gives hugs and tolerates my argumentative side.