Diary of a Mad Bride

by Laura Wolf

  56. Make photo list

  57. Choose hotel for wedding night

  58. Hire limo for church-reception transport

  59. Buy guest book for reception

  60. Find hotel for out-of-towners

  61. Decide on liquor selection

  62. Hire bartenders

  63. Verify wheelchair accessibility

  64. Choose processional music

  65. Choose recessional music

  66. Choose cocktail music

  67. Choose reception music

  68. Choose ceremony readings

  69. Prepare birdseed instead of rice

  70. Schedule manicure/pedicure/wax

  november 30th

  Anita and I went to a symposium for women in journalism. As employees of Teen Flair and Round-Up we were seated in the back with a partially obstructed view.

  Although the lectures were interesting I was hoping that the topic of married women in the workplace would be discussed. It wasn’t. According to Anita it’s old news: “What’s to discuss? It’s the same as if you were single—keep office romances quiet or you’ll be considered a slut, and don’t let your personal life interfere with your work.”

  What about discrimination? Hyphenated surnames? Spousal medical benefits?

  During the cocktail reception, as Anita enjoyed the open bar, I spotted Janet Brearley. Janet profiles unique and noteworthy weddings for one of the city’s biggest newspapers. I met her last year at the symposium, but now I had something to talk about. “Hi, Janet. I’m Amy Thomas from Round-Up magazine. We met last year.” Janet smiled and shook my hand. She had bits of duck confit wedged between her front teeth. “So how’s everything at the newspaper?” Blah, blah, blah. “Did I mention that I’m getting married in June?” I tried to be subtle. To go for the soft touch. I guess Janet gets that a lot, because her spine immediately stiffened.

  “Is that so?” She rubbed her temples. “Why don’t you tell me all about it.” So I did. And she smiled the smile of pity. Like I was a dyslexic struggling to spell the word IMPORTANT. “How lovely. It doesn’t sound like the type of wedding my paper would cover, but I wish you the best of luck.”

  And there it was. Janet Brearley had confirmed what I’d long suspected. My fiancé’s in computers. I’m in second-rate publications. We’re having our reception in my parents’ backyard in upstate New York surrounded by Common Man. Neither poverty-stricken nor fabulously wealthy, we’ve never been arrested, broken a world record, nor been leaders of an extremist religious group. Our wedding was going to be a boring, connect-the-dots affair.

  All in all, we’re just another brick in the wall.

  I joined Anita at the bar.

  december 1st

  My great-aunt Lucy is back in the hospital. A new drug designed to increase her circulation gave her an incredibly high fever instead. And while it’s not life-threatening, the doctors felt it was best to admit her to the hospital. I called her room, but a nurse said she was sleeping.

  Why do good people have to deal with such horrible things?

  Here I am running around, moaning about my $10,000 wedding, and Lucy’s in Milwaukee General fighting a hundred-plus fever. Priorities, anyone?

  december 2nd

  I’m going to be a wife. I can’t be a wife. That’s RIDICULOUS!

  A wife is a chain-smoking, fifty-year-old woman who looks like Edith Bunker. I’m no wife. I’m too cute to be a wife!

  Not to mention the fact that I still crack up when I refer to Stephen as my fiancé.

  (Which I think he’s beginning to take personally.)

  december 3rd

  Today was Stephen’s thirty-second birthday. At six P.M.

  Mr. Spontaneity decided he wanted to celebrate at a Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. Two hours later, ten of us were knee-deep in frozen vodka.

  I swear he’s got some magic power to make things happen. Maybe it’s his awkward charm. His tilted smile. His willingness to laugh…

  It was a great evening. And I had a terrific time. But as I chewed my sturgeon, I couldn’t help but wonder when Mr. Spontaneity was going to apply his magic power toward procuring us a wedding band.

  december 4th

  Mandy’s agreed to go dress shopping with me later this week. After hearing Bianca’s list she assured me we could do better. “Oh, please. Saks? Barney’s? Bergdorf’s? Those are flash-and-cash stores. They provide the flash, you hand over all your cash. Only bozos and tourists pay retail. The real bargains are in the outer boroughs and on Long Island. You’d be amazed at the deals you can find in Queens.”

  I have to admit I was impressed. This was not the whiny, pampered bride of months gone by. This was Superhero Mandy—frugal, irreverent, and sensible. “Is that where you bought your dress?” I hesitantly asked.

  “Of course. At Helman’s in Forest Hills, Queens. They have fabulous sales on discontinued styles. And they negotiate.”

  So even the rich economize? Even the rich haggle over dollars and cents? I find this incredibly comforting.

  Now I just have to find a dress that brings out my inner beauty—and hides my saddlebags like Houdini. If nothing else, at least I know it will be white.

  december 5th

  The Round-Up holiday issue has only been out for a week and already we’ve gotten six complaints from readers who have actually made Barry’s choice for the “best” eggnog in New York. The recipe came from a small pub on Staten Island named Scotty’s. It appears Scotty’s eggnog recipe tastes great but has a significant expulsive—read LAXATIVE—side effect. Sure it’s got nutmeg and egg yolks, but that’s not holiday cheer you’re feeling. Two people have already gone to the hospital for dehydration.

  A good editor would have tested the recipe before sending it to the printers. But this is Barry we’re talking about. So instead he spent the whole day with the legal department, hammering out a defense strategy.

  I bet my rejected story idea on caterers seems like a real winner just about now.

  december 6th

  Anita and I are going to the revival house to see Steve McQueen flex his wild thing in The Getaway. It seems like forever since Anita and I made a public spectacle of ourselves. I can’t wait. I view the evening as an unofficial celebration of Barry’s weeklong suspension without pay. Yippeee!!!

  december 7th

  Finally some frivolity!

  My mom’s decided to invite Stephen’s family for a big Christmas Eve buffet in celebration of our engagement. Obviously this is the result of her conversation with Nicole. And while I’m thrilled at the prospect of an engagement party, it’s further proof that Nicole’s her favorite. I can’t believe it took me this long to notice.

  december 8th

  Mandy and I dress shopped for ten hours today—and zip. Over sixty dresses later I’m still naked at the ball. Who knew there were so many shades of white?

  I even followed all of BB’s helpful hints on the topic of “Shopping for Your Bridal Gown” (Chapter Twenty-two): I wore pantyhose, slip-on shoes, and an easily removable outfit. I brought a pair of pumps whose heel is similar to the heel I want on my bridal shoes, assuming I ever find any. And I sucked on hard candy all throughout the day, just to keep my energy up.

  But no matter how much candy I sucked, I just couldn’t get my blood sugar high enough to buy anything I saw. There were ugly dresses, atrocious dresses, flammable dresses, and dresses that were okay and passable, and even some that were very beautiful. But the very beautiful dresses weren’t flattering on me, and if I’m bothering to get married, it better be “very beautiful.”

  Mandy found a skirt.

  december 10th

  It just dawned on me that Christmas is in two weeks and I still haven’t shopped for presents. What rock have I been under? Oh, yeah. That wedding boulder.

  december 11th

  Stephen discussed our wedding date with those brain surgeon friends of his, Larry and Mitch. Together the Three Stooges decided that June 2nd
is “not a great idea” because it might conflict with the NBA playoffs. Stephen doesn’t want to make anyone choose between our wedding and a game.

  I really thought he was kidding. I kept expecting him to say “Gotcha!”

  But he was dead serious. After four months of being engaged he suddenly wants to change the date? This is no time for spontaneity. I couldn’t believe it. A basketball game or someone’s wedding—is it really that difficult a choice? I know my friends wouldn’t have a problem with it. And somehow I don’t see Mrs. Stewart running out to the sports arena. So what he’s really saying is that Larry and Mitch might have a “conflict.” Boo-hoo. I’ll weep later.

  As an alternate date Stephen proposed March 2nd—the middle of the basketball season but way before the playoffs. I needed no time to consider it. “Have you ever heard of anyone getting married in March?” “No.” “Well that’s because March is a horrible month. It’s cold and it’s gloomy.” “But that’s the great part. It’s off-season. We’ll get great bargains.” Thank you, Homer Simpson. But I’m not getting married outside in three feet of snow unless someone pays me.

  december 13th

  We are now getting married on June 22nd, at which point, I’ve been assured, there is little chance of any professional sport being in the playoff, finals, or trophy stage of their season.

  I must really love this guy.

  december 15th

  Mr. Spaulding and I met today to discuss assigning the ten “Faces” profiles. Since the profiles are in-depth looks into the way these people live, work, and think, it’s imperative that the writers have plenty of time to study their subjects. We spent an hour going through a list of possible writers. I lobbied hard for Julie Browning. In addition to Julie being a talented journalist, the karaoke story got killed because Glamour did it first, and I think anyone who gets edged out of a job for getting married deserves all the opportunities she can get. And while I didn’t say anything, I secretly longed to profile the Unified wedding minister myself. But who am I kidding? I barely had time to buy Christmas gifts.

  But not so for Barry. He made a big scene of presenting Kate with a cashmere sweater. He made certain that the whole office heard about his generosity, knew it was two-ply cashmere, and was aware of his close ties to the “support staff.” Kate was so thrilled by her new sweater that she wore it for the rest of the day.

  It really was nice.

  Note to self: Exchange Kate’s designer peanut brittle for nicer gift.

  december 16th

  The company Stephen works for had their Christmas party last night. Not bad for a bunch of computer nerds pinning all their financial hopes on Stephen’s ability to perfect a program that enables one type of computer to talk to another type of computer when something else is also going on. He’s explained it to me thirty times and that’s as much as I understand. But he can barely write a letter let alone a magazine article, so in the end we’re well matched.

  The company rented a Mexican restaurant in midtown and hired a live band whose upbeat salsa music I was really enjoying until I heard Stephen talk about hiring them for our wedding reception.

  “That was a joke. Right, honey?” His fleeting nod did little to inspire my confidence. But it was more than enough to get Louise, one of Stephen’s coworkers, to start talking about her own wedding plans.

  Louise is like Central Casting’s idea of a successful computer programmer. Barely in her twenties, she’s 5’9”, 130 pounds, blond, and beautiful. Nicole Kidman would play her in the movie. And despite what the packaging may lead you to suspect, she’s also extremely intelligent and hardworking. I breathed a long sigh of relief when I learned of her engagement. Irrational as it may be, ever since she joined the company I’ve harbored a deeply rooted fear that Louise and Stephen would fall madly in love and run off to beget some dippy, albeit outrageously attractive colony of computer geeks named Byte, Ram, and Mouse. But no. Louise is marrying some guy she met in an on-line chat room.

  Which is good, because she’s recently been assigned to help Stephen develop his computer program. This means that every night Stephen’s working late, he’s working late with Louise.

  Thank God for cyber-love.

  Over one too many margaritas Louise told me about her mother, who was so distraught at the thought of “losing her baby” that she had channeled her grief into collecting an enormous trousseau of all the nightgowns, robes, and lingerie Louise will need for the REST OF HER LIFE. Louise was getting a friggin’ trousseau!

  My envy was only vaguely tempered by the fact that the thought of my mother buying me lingerie makes me queasy.

  december 17th

  It’s official. I’ve seen every wedding dress on Long Island. And Mandy now has bunions.

  december 18th

  I forced myself to brave the holiday crowds and shop for wedding shoes after work. Result: nothing. I know I should wait until after New Year’s. I might even catch some sales that way. But I can’t. I’m desperate to feel some sense of accomplishment. Of progress. It’s barely six months from our wedding day and all I’ve got is a backyard with a newly reseeded lawn.

  Thank God I’ve got a groom. But he doesn’t count. I had him before all this started.

  According to the schedule in Chapter Three of BB I should be spending this time planning the menu with my caterer and engraving gifts for our attendants. But I don’t have a caterer, a menu, or gifts.

  At this rate I’ll be walking down the aisle in a plastic trash bag and a pair of rubber flip-flops.

  december 23rd

  I must have been crazy to let my mother invite both our families for Christmas Eve. It’s the first time I’ll be meeting Stephen’s grandparents. I want them to think I’m charming and beautiful and worthy of their grandson. Not to mention their heirloom emerald ring. I should have bought a new outfit.

  Then there’s the issue of Stephen’s parents getting along with my parents. Not to mention with each other, since Mr. Stewart insists on bringing Misty. I’ll have to put Nicole on the lookout to ensure that Mrs. Stewart doesn’t quietly slash Misty’s throat with a cake knife. That would just fuel Gram’s argument about Stephen’s genetic predisposition toward disastrous marriages. And I should probably watch my own back lest Kimberly decides to reclaim her precious emerald ring while my finger’s still in it.

  And then there’s Tom. Maybe Chet can regale him with tales of suburban life. Or dish the dirt about seventh-grade Social Studies—the secret life of Pilgrims, why Columbus really sailed the ocean blue…anything to keep Tom away from my relatives.

  Trust me, they don’t need to know how highly sexed he is.

  december 24th

  Where do I begin?

  I had intended to arrive at my parents house early this afternoon to help my mother prepare for the party. But I got there two hours later than planned because I missed my train at Grand Central Station. I missed the train because I was busy laboring over an extremely tricky and elaborate recipe for Sacher torte. At three in the morning I woke up and realized that despite the fact that this engagement party is in honor of Stephen and me, it is also the perfect opportunity for me to make a good impression on my future in-laws. I decided to accomplish that by making a Sacher torte—the traditional celebratory dessert of Austria.

  By 7 A.M. I was at the grocery store getting the necessary ingredients. I’d never made a Sacher torte; in fact I hate cooking, but that didn’t discourage me. I’d found a detailed recipe in my New York Times cookbook. Everything was fine except that my oven must cook at a particularly slow pace, because it took a full hour longer for the torte to bake than was indicated in the cookbook. But it looked great. Stephen went ahead to meet his own parents as I waited patiently for my torte to come into its own.

  By the time I arrived at my parents’ house everything was ready. Thankfully Nicole and Chet had come early that morning to help. After praising my culinary efforts we exchanged gifts, since we had all agreed that my engagement party would
also serve as our Christmas celebration. We swapped the usual—sweaters, books, and CDs—but Gram didn’t give me my annual Christmas check. Gram’s given me a Christmas check for the last thirty years. And even though the amount—generally between twenty-five and fifty dollars—isn’t going to change my life, I find the gesture comforting.

  Gram must have sensed my distress, because she winked at me and said with a smile, “Christmas checks are for little girls. Not grown-up women who have decided to get married.” What?! I failed to see how my marital status impacted my ability to receive my beloved Christmas check. Am I any less worthy this year than last? Does getting married mean that I’m no longer Gram’s little girl? After all, aren’t I her favorite?

  Separation. Confusion. Abandonment. Suddenly I felt every one of them. That Christmas check represented a bond that would never be broken. And yet now it was. But what could I say? Gram’s from a different generation. She probably feels like I belong to Stephen’s family now. Swapped like a goat or some prized chickens.

  The Stewarts arrived in two waves. First Stephen came with his mother and Chuffy, along with his sister, his grandparents, the Brocktons, who drove in from New Jersey. After all the introductions were made and people held drinks in their hands, everyone relaxed and got to know one another. It was fabulous—despite the fact that my mother momentarily lapsed into teacher mode when she had us go around the room and say our names.

  Mrs. Stewart and my parents immediately hit it off (with my dad scoring big with his comment about loving dogs), while Nicole worked overtime to make Kimberly feel welcome. But it was the Brocktons who won the award for the most incredible couple ever. They showered me with kisses and raved about how happy they are about our engagement. Keeping an eye out for Kim, I proudly displayed the emerald ring and thanked them for their generosity.