Bad Bridesmaid Bachelorette Brawls and Taffeta Tantrums - Tales from the Front Lines

Prologue Disengaged I can't believe it. You make someone a bridesmaid and they shit all over you. Ginny Baker, Sixteen Candles Call it a Bridesmaid Blindside. It was late June, almost exactly one year since my friend had popped the question, asking me to be a member of her bridal party. To be honest, I had never really considered myself bridesmaid material. I declined to play wedding dress-up as a child, and never hummed myself down an imaginary aisle with a pillowcase dangling from my head. I didn't take it upon myself to learn how to bustle a dress or clasp my hands properly around the stems of a bouquet. During most weddings, I pass the time fidgeting and taking pictures of my chest with the disposable cameras given to each table. In lieu of any useful advice or skills to offer as a bridesmaid, I spent our year of bridal preparations contributing in the only way I knew how: following people around, doing what I was told, and making a sarcastic comment whenever the opportunity presented itself. When it was time for the bride and groom to register for gifts, I suggested the liquor storean idea I personally believed to be geniusimagining nights spent sampling from the bottomless bar provided courtesy of their many wedding guests. When the couple instead chose to register at a more traditional retailer, I asked them to sign up for an espresso maker, which I could then purchase from them at a discounted priceanother brilliant scheme for all involved. They didn't go for it. Still, I found the whole process bizarrely entertaining, even though I was occasionally overwhelmed by the expense, excess, and drama of the bridal circus. I thought it was funny how much time, energy, and fifty-dollar-per-yard fabric could be employed in an event that would last a maximum of eight hours. Little did I know, I was about to become the punch line in my own yearlong joke. Twelve months of my life were filled with engagement celebrations, fittings, bachelorette parties, color consultations, band bookings, photographer selections, and premarital meltdowns. Like thousands of other women who are bridesmaids each year, I had bought gifts of racy lingerie and made an emotional speech. I had taken a cab to an undesirable part of town to have my hips measured at 8:00 a.m. by a Portuguese seamstress with little sympathy for my hangover or winter weight gain. I'd spent a hundred dollars on canapes to feed women who earn more than twice my salary, and spent a night lying on the cool tiles of my kitchen floor praying for death after drinking too much sangria at the shower. All of these obligations were performed dutifully (if drunkenly) as I attempted to honor my close friend, who wanted her wedding tasteful and the lead-up textbook. But a month before the wedding, I made a big mistake. No, I did not sleep with the groom or let my ass spread beyond the contours accommodated by raw silk. I did not slap the soon-to-be mother-in-law or refuse to pony up for a hundred-dollar blow-dry. I simply asked why the bridesmaid's participation in all this pomp and circumstance was necessaryand I did it publicly. In an article for a national newspaper, I admitted to being a Bad Bridesmaid, a woman whowhile thrilled that her friend was engagedcould not get excited about the fine print. I had suggested the piece as part of a special section on weddings, and thought of it as a funny insider's look at being a bridal attendant. The job has evolved beyond ugly dresses and a solemn processional, I wrote, and into a commitment that borders on cultish. I had been asked to be a bridesmaid by two friends that summer, and was surprised at just how much waAgrell, Siri is the author of 'Bad Bridesmaid Bachelorette Brawls and Taffeta Tantrums - Tales from the Front Lines', published 2007 under ISBN 9780805082692 and ISBN 0805082697.