Diary of a Mad Bride
Page 3
Holy shit! “YES.”
Just one word and my whole future has changed. I can’t handle this. I am going to explode.
august 2nd—4 A.M.
I had to wake Stephen up.
ME
Do you realize that this is the only moment in our entire lives when only you and I know that we’re engaged? We should cherish this moment.
Stephen’s eyes vaguely crack open.
STEPHEN
You’re right, honey. I do cherish it.
His hand reaches out limply to stroke my arm.
STEPHEN
But could we talk about it tomorrow? I’ve got an 8 A.M. conference call and I really need to sleep.
Puckering his lips, he manages a kissy sound before passing out.
Do I get annoyed that he won’t cherish this moment with me, or do I rejoice that even at 4 A.M. he’s considerate enough to call me “honey” before blowing me off to go back to sleep? I go with loving and responsible. After all, he does have an 8 A.M. meeting and he could have gone back to his apartment to sleep, but he wanted to spend our engagement night together.
I’m marrying a man who’s romantic AND gainfully employed. What a rush! Good-bye, losers!
• Jonas the painter: An “abstract-impressionist”?
• Anthony the inventor: Who’s going to wear Velcro swimwear?
• Rick the conga drum player: Constantly sweet-talked me into doing his laundry. What was I thinking?
It all seems like ages ago. As if my decision to marry has suddenly put decades of distance between my life before Stephen and now. Our commitment to each other has solidified our union and built this impregnable wall around us. This is forever.
august 2nd
Work was a complete waste today. I couldn’t stop smiling and I had the attention span of an A.D.D. poster child. I was certain that someone would figure it out. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I was glowing! All during the department meeting—glow, smile, glow, smile, glow, smile…
But no one noticed. Which is strange, because I work at New York’s least read magazine. No one ever smiles. Or glows.
Further complicating matters was the fact that I couldn’t tell anyone about my engagement. I decided on my way to work that my mother should be the first person to know. After all, she gave me life, right? It’s a matter of respect. So here I was with the greatest news since control-top pantyhose and I’d sworn myself to silence.
Silence isn’t my style. Just ask my secretary, Kate, who pops Advil throughout the day and routinely complains of carpal tunnel syndrome when I dictate letters.
I decided to take the commuter train upstate this weekend and tell my mother in person. Face-to-face so we can embrace in this most intimate of mother-daughter moments. The minute I got to my office I called to tell her I’d be arriving on Friday night.
Unfortunately the woman who gave me life is too busy to see me for the next two weeks.
School starts in less than a month and she’s got to prepare a new curriculum for her fourth-grade class. So I’ll wait. I may have to staple my mouth shut, but I’ll wait so those lice-infested, snot-encrusted nine-year-olds can have a shot at a decent education. But it’s worth it. After all, how many times does a girl get to tell her mother she’s getting married?
august 3rd
This silence thing is killing me. Stephen thinks I’m crazy. I think I’m driving him crazy. He’s the only one I can talk to about the engagement so I’ve called him forty-six times since yesterday morning. That’s approximately once every half hour. I’ve gotten no work done and he’s forwarded his calls to voice mail.
So in an effort to contain myself I channeled my exuberance toward a worthy cause: shoe shopping.
I pass the Kenneth Cole shoe store every day, and this was the first time I noticed the display of bridal shoes in the window. After work I tried on a pair of simple, classic, reasonably priced white satin sling-backs. I actually considered buying them before it occurred to me—
I’VE ONLY BEEN ENGAGED FOR SEVENTY-TWO HOURS AND ALREADY I’M BUYING FOOTWEAR?!
Talk about overzealous. It’s like preparing the spit before you’ve shot the pig. How Mandy of me! So I hurried out of the store and bought a low-fat blueberry muffin instead.14
* * *
14 But not by choice. Trust me, delusion doesn’t live here…. She’s over at Jenny Craig’s house. They were sold out of my favorite full-fat chocolate chip muffins with the powder sugar top.
august 5th
I don’t understand why people have such trouble organizing weddings. All you need is a good list.
Luckily, I’m the list queen.
I’ve always made lists. That’s why I’m so good at my job. I’m organized and in control. I’m on top of the situation, always. As a fast-rising magazine editor I’ve overseen articles on housing scandals, crack babies, and boat shows. Not to mention a six-part series on yo-yo dieting. I think I can handle a wedding.
It drives me nuts to think that people like Mandy actually spend thousands of dollars to hire a wedding planner. Sure she wants everything done “just right,” but how about putting that money into something practical? Like an IRA. Or a new vacuum cleaner. Those are investments. But thousands of dollars on a wedding planner? Another couple thousand on flowers? Not to mention the million-dollar dress you only wear once. Forget it. I refuse to wake up in debt the day after my wedding.
LIST OF THINGS TO DO FOR WEDDING:
1. Choose wedding date
2. Tell boss wedding date
3. Vacation time for honeymoon
4. Decide on honeymoon
5. Get minister
6. Choose reception venue
7. Make guest list
8. Choose maid of honor
9. Choose best man
10. Register for gifts
11. Arrange for engagement party
12. Buy engagement ring
13. Buy wedding rings
14. Buy wedding dress
15. Choose maid of honor dress
16. Order wedding cake
17. Hire caterer
18. Hire band for reception
19. Order flowers for ceremony
20. Buy shoes
august 6th
It started as a lark. Since I can’t actually talk about my wedding I figured I should at least use my time wisely and get all the planning out of the way. You know, zip through that “Things To Do” list, then get back to the important things in life, like my story ideas for the October issue of Round-Up. So, looking for guidance, I stopped at the newsstand to buy a bridal magazine.
Except it wasn’t that simple.
I work in the magazine industry and even I never realized how many bridal magazines there are. And they cost a fortune. Ten dollars a pop? That’s what some guys get for sperm donations. And sperm’s got a longer shelf life. These magazines are useless after I’m married. Even if I give them to a girlfriend, she’s got to get married within the next year or the dresses will be out of fashion, the prices will have changed, and the vendors will have moved.
And they’re 90 percent ads.
But which one to buy? I probably should’ve waited to ask Mandy, but I still have eight LONG and TORTUROUS days of silence left, and I see no reason to be idle. So I purchased ten. I’m too busy living to waste a second agonizing over how to choose a bridal magazine.
august 7th
After studying the bridal magazines and weeding through all the advertisements, it seems I left a few things off my list.
Although only freaks and Mandys would seriously consider numbers 30, 31, 36, 38, and 39.
LIST OF THINGS TO DO FOR WEDDING (AMENDED):
1. Choose wedding date
2. Tell boss wedding date
3. Vacation time for honeymoon
4. Decide on honeymoon
5. Get minister
6. Choose reception venue
7. Make guest list
8. Choose maid of honor
9. Choose best man
10. Register for gifts
11. Arrange for engagement party
12. Buy engagement ring
13. Buy wedding rings
14. Buy wedding dress
15. Choose maid of honor dress
16. Order wedding cake
17. Hire caterer
18. Hire band for reception
19. Order flowers for ceremony
20. Buy shoes
21. Plan rehearsal dinner
22. Invites to rehearsal dinner
23. Hire musicians for ceremony
24. Decide on dress code
25. Get marriage license
26. Hire videographer
27. Hire photographer
28. Order table flowers
29. Order bouquets
30. Order boutonnieres for men
31. Order nosegays for women
32. Order invitations
33. Decide on wine selection
34. Postage for invitations
35. Choose hairstyle and makeup
36. Buy gifts for attendants
37. Buy thank-you notes
38. Announce wedding in newspaper
39. Buy headpiece
august 9th
I showed my list to Stephen. After looking it over he felt confident that I’d remembered everything. And just as I suspected, he agrees that we should not, under any circumstances, allow our parents to get involved with the planning. Stephen’s folks live only a few towns away from my parents upstate, so it’s not like it’d be impossible for them to commute to the city and help. But where my parents can be overbearing, especially my mother, the Stewarts are just plain insane. That’s Stephen’s word, not mine.
Mr. Stewart owns an electrical repair company and Mrs. Stewart’s an interior decorator with a passion for dogs—in particular, her little chow named Chuffy, whom she carries everywhere in her handbag. The Stewarts separated ten months ago after thirty-five years of marriage. Mr. Stewart now lives in a bachelor pad across town and is dating a woman with whom Stephen and his brother, Tom, went to high school. Perhaps “insane” doesn’t really begin to capture the family gestalt. In any event, we’ll take their money with sincere gratitude, then handle all the details ourselves.
Actually, it looks like I’ll be handling most of the details. Although I’ve been given the enviable responsibility of overseeing next fall’s “Faces in the City” issue of Round-Up, Stephen’s entire company is relying on him to complete production of a new software program by June so they can release it in September. He hasn’t got a moment of free time. So he’s agreed to let me handle all the wedding details—except the band, which he wants to choose. The only thing he asks is that the meal be “real.” He hates finger food.
Not a problem. I’ve got plenty of time, my trusty list, and an easygoing fiancé who I adore.
How hard can this be?
august 10th
Little Women was on TV tonight. Overwhelmed with love, Professor Bhaer proposes to Jo in the pouring rain.
No movie theater, no concession stand, no artificial butter-flavored popcorn. Just romance.
august 11th
It’s my first mini-crisis. The Maid of Honor Dilemma. Mandy, Anita, or my sister, Nicole? It seems so small and insignificant a decision, but the more I think about this the bigger the problem gets. A misstep so early in the wedding process could seriously cripple my chances for smooth and harmonious sailing, not to mention lay the foundation for years of bitterness and latent hostility.
I guess Nicole’s the easiest to edge out since she didn’t ask me to be her maid of honor, and honestly, we may be sisters but we’re not that close. I mean, let’s be real. She’s Mr. Coffee and I’m a double espresso. Blood may be thicker than water, but unlike me, she’d know exactly what cleansing product to use to get it out of your carpet.
But Mandy or Anita? My yin or my yang? I’m not Mandy’s maid of honor, and Anita will never have a maid of honor, since hell will freeze over before she ties the knot, so I can’t use the “payback” principle. On a practical level, Mandy is better able to handle the responsibilities. After all, she is the repository of all wedding knowledge. And I doubt Anita even knows about bridal showers, let alone that it’s the maid of honor’s responsibility to throw one. But certainly a party spearheaded by Anita would be significantly more fun than the Stepford Wives luncheon Mandy’s likely to pull together.
It’s the difference between Sabrina the teenage witch and Buffy the vampire slayer. Neither is truly “right” for the job, but somebody’s got to do it.
august 13th
I went over to Stephen’s apartment last night to work on the wedding.
We decided on an evening ceremony with “festive attire,” which means sharp and elegant. Although Stephen and his best man will definitely wear tuxedos. After all, Stephen is the groom.
But it wasn’t the planning that alarmed me that evening. It was his apartment. I’ve been there a hundred times since we started dating. We’ve had meals there, entertained friends there, had sex in his bedroom, his bathroom, and on his kitchen floor. But this visit was different. This was the first time I ever really looked at his apartment. The apartment of the man with whom I am going to share my life and my living space. Sure, it’s well-lit and fairly clean, but when did it get so TACKY?!
Is he going to keep that horrible plaid couch after we’re married? Not to mention the light-blue toilet seat, the collection of plastic cups from his favorite sporting events, the neon bar sign that reads “HOT ICE,” and don’t get me started on the entertainment center with the remotecontrolled doors.
Sure, these things were cute and fun when we were dating, but now that we’re going to be sharing an apartment they’re positively TERRIFYING. I can’t live with a neon bar sign.
Never before have I thought about the concept of joint property. His stuff is my stuff and my stuff is his. By virtue of our marriage I practically own that entertainment center. What an awesome sense of culpability that brings. And whoever thought I’d be the proud owner of a vintage 1990 Playboy magazine featuring Pamela Anderson as Playmate of the Year? On a brighter note, I also own the foot massager, the big-screen TV, and the framed Ansel Adams prints.
But the couch!
august 14th
I went two weeks, two TORTUROUS weeks, without telling anyone about my engagement because I felt it was important to tell my mother first, in person, at our monthly family meal. After all, she is the one who gave me life. Did she not birth me? Did she not scream in agonizing labor for thirty-six hours so that I could come into existence?
I actually kept quiet about the most outrageous thing that’s happened to me since my orgasmic one-night stand with the guy who played Tom Cruise’s younger brother in that pirate movie. That’s right. I slept with what’s-his-name. But this was bigger. Better. The best news I’ve ever had, and I saved it for my dear sweet mother.
Who couldn’t have been less enthusiastic if she’d been doped up on cough syrup.
Sure, she smiled. She hugged me. She told me how happy she was and how great she thinks Stephen is. But then she turned around and finished scrubbing the grout on the kitchen counter.
No champagne. No euphoria-induced prancing throughout the house. Just grout. Grout so clean you could perform invasive surgery on it.
Dad gave me a hug. A big generous hug followed by a litany of questions ranging from how it felt to be engaged to whether Stephen’s family was planning on splitting the expenses.
And while Chet and Nicole congratulated me, there was none of the weeping hysteria I was expecting from classics like Beaches and Steel Magnolias.
NICOLE
That’s terrific. I’m really happy for the two of you.
ME
That’s it?
That’s our femme à femme bonding? Thirteen years I share a bedroom with you and that’s all you’ve got to give?
NICOLE
What do you me
an, “That’s it?”
ME
I mean, here I am sharing some pretty incredible news. No, correct that. The most incredible news I’ve ever told you –
NICOLE
I don’t know. Sleeping with the guy from the pirate movie was pretty cool.
ME
Cool, yes. Incredible? No!
CHET
What guy?
NICOLE
The one who played Tom Cruise’s younger bro—
ME
Can we focus here? I’m getting married and all you can say is “I’m happy for you”?
NICOLE
Well, I am happy for you, Amy. Stephen’s a really nice guy and I know you love each other. I guess I’m just a little surprised.
ME
By what?
NICOLE
By the fact that you’re actually getting married. I’ve never thought of you as the marrying kind.
There it is. Here we go. The gloves are off.
ME
What’s that supposed to mean? What’s the marrying kind? And why am I not it?!
NICOLE
I just can’t imagine you settling down with one person.
CHET
Did you and Stephen consider living together first?
ME
Yeah, but we decided to get married instead.
Thank God Stephen was sick with the flu and didn’t witness this delightful family tableau.
NICOLE
I didn’t mean it as an insult. I just meant that some people seem better suited to marriage than others. Maybe that’s just a part of your personality that I’m not aware of.