Awfully Wedded Wife

Oh, you just know it's June when the newspapers and magazines are full of bridal blech. Next time you're at Shoppers, pick up one of those bridal magazines. Seriously. I think they must weight 5 or 6 pounds each.

My own column tomorrow is a small trip down memory lane to my own ill-fated trip down the aisle...some people just aren't marriage material. That would be me.

The New Yorker has a piece that has had me laughing out loud. Contrary to what you may believe, I don't laugh out loud when I'm by myself all that often. Scares the cats.

This link is every obnoxious bride, every detail saturated wedding, every shudder inducing marital moment you've ever experienced. ("E-vites are for the Guest only; there is no 'implied plus one'.We're very sorry, but it's a very small mountaintop, with limited ruins.")

Ah, limited ruins. If only one's ruins could be limited. A few years back, I had the soul-sucking pleasure of being in the company of a friend of an acquaintance (get that? I could have left, and didn't. More fool me.) who was in the process of planning her wedding. As she moved from the topic of the crinolines for the flower girls to the personalized labels on the plonk, I realized I had blasted past my two-glass maximum of wine. And was fast approaching two bottles.

There was nothing this woman/girl (there seems to be nothing as infantalizing as a grown woman stomping her foot when she's told she can't have 14 attendants) wasn't trying to control. Nobody could get a sunburn before the wedding. But they must be tanned - no strap marks. She wanted teeth whitened, hair curled, speeches written, and, judging from the registry, all her beloved friends and family to mortage their homes to set her up in hers.

I tuned out. I can't help it. I just don't get it. Go get married, shut up, and concentrate on having a marriage. It's way harder than having a wedding.

After avoiding the acquaintance (in order to avoid the friend) for several years, I finally returned to the scene of my two-bottle night. I introduced myself to the gathered party, only to be told I already knew this particular woman. I stared blankly. No, I'm sure I didn't. Turns out this was the bridelette, three years on. As I extended my hand, I made a mental note to also extend a little tolerance; we all go a little crazy when planning a wedding, and now it was securely in her past (and the groom - I'm pretty sure it was the same guy - was still there), I felt I could finally get to know the woman.

Nope. She was pregnant with her first. She commenced entrancing us with her journey to motherhood. Of course she couldn't drink.

But I could.