Diary of a Mad Bride
Page 14
And it will never fit on a credit card.
february 20th
Katrina howled with laughter when she saw my dress. None of the giggles or titters generally reserved for velour cowl necks or outdated swimwear. No sir. My goddamn wedding dress brought down the house.
Coincidentally, my insomnia has returned.
february 21st
Anita loves the idea of having an Ecuadorian woodwind band at our wedding. “Finally a wedding band that doesn’t play ‘Unforgettable.’ ” Give me a little credit. “Unforgettable” won’t be played at my wedding no matter who the band is. I’m more concerned with getting some classic seventies disco. But Anita’s delight went beyond music. “You know, Ecuadorian men are really sexy. Great skin. I’m definitely going to want an introduction.”
Sure. What better reason to hire a wedding band than to procure dates for your friends?
Mandy, on the other hand, was horrified by the idea. “Those men in the subway? Playing at your wedding? This is a disaster! Do they even have waltzes in Ecuador? You can’t do this! Their music doesn’t have downbeats!”30
But what can I do? The music was the one thing Stephen really cared about. I’m making all the other decisions. Shouldn’t he at least make this one? No matter how completely stupid it is?
* * *
30 A musical impossibility? Who knows. But why quibble?
february 22nd
I called our photographer to arrange for a meeting. I wanted him to come see the church and my parents’ house and talk with us about portraits. After all, doesn’t he need to assess the lighting conditions?
Yes. But not now. It seems that winter is low-season for brutal crimes and fires, which means to a freelance newspaper photographer that times are tough. He’s got to stay glued to his police scanner in case something good—BAD—comes up. He’ll get back to us in the spring.
february 23rd
Stephen is planning to sue the city for his pothole injury.
After spending the last six years attending law school and failing the bar exam three times, Larry’s finally a bona fide personal injury attorney. He has big plans to advertise his services on buses and public-access cable. This is the source of Stephen’s decision to sue.
According to Larry, Stephen has a solid case: a wretched pothole, a police report, eyewitnesses—and thirty-six staples in his head.
Luckily Larry’s graciously volunteered to represent Stephen free of charge. It’s his wedding present to us.
Cheap bastard.
Meanwhile, Katrina’s decided that it’ll cost $500 to redesign my dress, and even then she can only promise that it will be “okay.”
Five hundred dollars for a dress that’s “okay”? That’s obscene. But what could I do? I have to wear this dress. It’s my familial cross to bear. Besides, $500 is still cheaper than a new dress and I can use the extra money to rent a tent for the reception.
I gave Katrina my blessing. Cut the thing to shreds. My check’s in the mail.
february 25th
I spoke with Lucy last night. I filled her in on my latest disasters. She advised me to follow my heart, but I think it’s too late to elope.
february 28th
I knew I couldn’t afford a big-time caterer. And I knew that none of the city caterers would travel upstate for a $10,000 wedding. So I acted responsibly. I aimed low.
Apparently not low enough.
Karry, of Karry’s Kitchen, a nice little caterer located two towns over from my folks, took one look at my budget, then packed up her display book. “I’m afraid there’s no way I can do dinner for ninety in your price range.”
I was mortified. Ticked off. Alarmed. “Well, do you have any suggestions? Is there anyone else I should call?”
“Yes. Chef Boyardee and Little Debbie.”
Nice. Real nice.
With such monetary realities in mind, Stephen and I have decided to honeymoon in South Carolina. This way we don’t need to worry about passports, visas, or shots. And we can actually afford to sleep in a hotel instead of the backseat of our rental car. Besides, Stephen’s got this incredibly romantic notion about the beach. “It’s so warm and relaxing. How could you not want to go there? Unless, of course, you’ve seen Jaws.”
Oh, and for the record, I’ve officially decided to take Stephen’s last name.
march 2nd
After picking up my wedding ring from Lancaster’s I spent the entire night strutting around my apartment with it on my finger. Imagine me, Ms. Costume Jewelry That Comes on Little Plastic Squares from the Twirling Display Racks at Macy’s, all decked out with a gold band and an emerald ring. Sure, I’ve got nothing on those Indian brides who wear so much gold it looks like lamé, but I do feel special. Like a princess. Or a syndicated talk-show host.
I’m well aware of all the antiquated reasons why married women are decorated in precious metals and stones. To display their husband’s wealth, to ensure them monetary compensation for their soiled purity should their fiancé/husband suddenly dump them, to publicize their husband’s ownership of them, and, lastly, to highlight their worth—like giving a prized pig the biggest pen.
But screw it. My husband’s not wealthy. We paid for our rings with our money. My “purity” was soiled long before we met. And the only thing about me that Stephen possesses is my love.
And if this is about highlighting my worth, then forget the rings. Bust out my crown and scepter, because I’m a damn good person with good intentions—most of the time. But for now I’m putting my wedding ring back into its box. I once heard that wearing your ring before the ceremony is bad luck, and I’ve got enough to worry about without some hex hanging over my head for Bytes Infinitum.
march 3rd
Anita came over last night to watch bad TV. During a commercial break I told her I was changing my name to Amy Sarah Stewart. I expected her to rant. To accuse me of being a sellout, a Stepford Wife, a Mandy.
Instead she dissolved into hysterics.
ANITA
That’s priceless! Your new initials will be A.S.S.!
Maybe I won’t take Stephen’s last name.
march 4th
I’ve called eight caterers and none of them will do our wedding. Between date conflicts, budget restrictions, and outright disinterest, I’ve come up empty-handed.
For all its billions of chapters, BB never once mentions how to handle being turned down by everyone you ask. I guess the answer is obvious. Forge on. Grin and bear it.
No wonder Prudence smiles so much.
march 6th
Not being able to sleep has given me plenty of time for reflection. I spent all last night thinking about the first time Stephen and I met at our friend James’s party. Who would’ve guessed that almost two years later we’d be getting married. How bizarre. If you had told me back then, I would’ve said you were crazy. But here we are.
And what if I hadn’t gone to the party? What if I hadn’t met Stephen? What if I hadn’t heard the warm, embracing laugh that won my heart?
I’d probably be dating a sociopath. A freeloader. A white-collar criminal. Or (D), All of the above. But never again. I won’t ever date another man. I’ll never have a romantic dinner with anyone else. I will never see another man naked. I will never have sex with another man. Stephen is the only man I will ever date, see naked, have sex and eat with for the rest of my life. For the remainder of my mortal existence I will be exclusively with Stephen.
Is that humanly possible? Am I genetically capable of this? Sure, Stephen’s great, but is he THE ONE?
march 7th
The more I look at Prudence the more convinced I am that she’s trying to tell me something.
march 8th
To comfort myself from the painful realization that my wedding dress will undoubtedly have a frontier theme, I decided to shop for shoes. Again.
Having gone to all the department stores, bridal boutiques, and specialty shops I could think of, I finally braved the Bridal Building in Queens.<
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To my mind the Bridal Building is where dreams go to die. It’s filled with wholesalers and a handful of retailers who make a living off bridal misfortunes. What’s that, you say you’ve got almost no money? Fear not. People without the ability to utter complete sentences will sell you the cheapest, tackiest, most grotesque wedding accessories that child laborers in Malaysia, Taiwan, and the Dominican Republic can make. And in an effort not to discriminate, there’s a healthy showing of products manufactured domestically by preteens in Mississippi and the Bronx.
Needless to say, I brought my own nylon peds. The last thing I need is some crusty foot fungus—international or domestic.
The Bridal Building is truly bad to the bone. The architect must have been a sadist, because there are virtually no windows. Just like in casinos on the Vegas strip, your internal clock is set by the buzz of fluorescent lights. Is it day or night outside? Who the hell knows. You’re stuck in the land of stale, recycled air and permanent noon. But unlike the lush, albeit tacky decor of Vegas, the Bridal Building is stark and clinical. Its hallways of cheap Formica and yellowed linoleum floors lead you to an endless number of unmarked doors—like an old medical building with unlicensed doctors lurking around every corner. Is this periodontistry or organ donation?
I spent hours wandering into single-room stores filled with progressively less attractive merchandise. Plastic bridal bouquets, fuchsia garter belts, and cubic zirconia engagement rings with adjustable bands. On an up note, I did see wedding dresses uglier than my own, but there was no time to gloat. I have three months and fourteen days to find wedding shoes.
So I forged on through rows of stiletto-heeled white pumps and bubble-gum-pink sling-backs adorned with tiny plastic angels. I saw open-toed mules with fur appliqué and white sandals with long leather laces that tied all the way up your thigh. If it hadn’t been my wedding I would have laughed. But it was. So I was just about to cry when I happened to catch sight of some rhinestone hair combs in Mrs. Cho’s Bridal Accessory Shoppe.
I made my way to the cabinet. Was that really an attractive object in the bastion of all that is cheap and flammable? Yes! The hair combs were darling—and could be used to highlight a fabulous hairstyle without causing radio-wave disturbances, like Prudence’s massive headpiece. Suddenly my mind was racing. I’d never considered wearing anything other than fresh flowers in my hair.31 But these hair combs were so delicate, so sparkly, so special. Just the thing to add a touch of class to my cowgirl bridal ensemble.
But as I took the comb from the display cabinet and brought it to my head, Mrs. Cho—a diminutive Korean woman with a piercing voice—shouted, “No! Fa kids.”
ME
Excuse me?
MRS. CHO
Not fa adults. Too little. It’s fa children.
ME
Sure. But couldn’t a grown-up wear these hair combs if she wanted to?
MRS. CHO
It’s not hair comb. It’s tiara. Like princess. Fa little kid princess. You too old.
And tearing it from my hand, she swiftly returned it to the display case.
Since when do hair accessories have age limits?
* * *
31 A veil was too old-fashioned, not to mention virginal, for this Big City gal. Besides, if everything goes right you only get married once, so who’s got time for modesty?
march 9th—3 A.M.
I once saw a news report about a woman who went insane from sleep deprivation. Not nutty, or irritable, or cranky, but full-out INSANE from lack of sleep. For anyone who’s remotely skeptical, let me tell you now—
Oh yeah, it could happen. Just keep me in your crosshairs. Every night I get a bit closer—sleep-deprivation extremis. And Stephen’s certainly no help, with his damn “little” snores and the way he throws his arm across my lungs. Even if he doesn’t sever my oxygen supply with his bony elbow I’m sure to go deaf from those foghorn snores. Deviated septum, my ass!
How can this be the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with? What the hell am I thinking?!!
I must be insane. I can’t be insane.
I’m too well dressed!
Maybe I should bail. Maybe that’s what Prudence has been trying to tell me.
march 10th
It’s been several weeks since I heard from Gram. Nothing but silence. Silence isn’t good. Silence means something bad is brewing. Now as I lie awake at night, I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall.
march 11th
I’m screwed. I need to edit an exposé on sanitation disposal, reassign an article on computer-related joint diseases, and come up with a complete list of summer story ideas for the June issue, by tomorrow. Sure, I could have done these things yesterday. Or last week. But no. I’ve been running around with my head cut off looking for a caterer and a florist and a loophole in my medical plan that will qualify me for mental-health benefits!
All this because of a wedding that I’m no longer certain I should be having.
march 12th
Stephen is refusing to sleep over anymore. He says I make him nervous. How could I possibly make him nervous? I’m the one doing everything, so it’s not like I’m asking him to participate beyond his one task of finding a band, which he’s doing slowly and poorly and I’m beginning to worry he won’t complete until two weeks before the wedding. So let’s be real. I’m the one who’s got an unrelenting list of things to do, not to mention finding a pair of wedding shoes!
And how difficult can it be to find shoes? I’m not asking for a miracle. Just something classy, comfy, and affordable that I can walk in without breaking my neck, and he says I’m making him nervous? Oh, please.
Let him try being a BRIDE!
Official THINGS TO DO List
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. Choose 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
40. Buy traveler’s checks for honeymoon
41. Apply for visas
42. Get shots and vaccinations
43. Order tent if necessary
44. Order chairs/tables if necessary
45. Make budget
46. Divide expenses
47. Make table-seating charts
48. Choose bridesmaid dress
49. Decide on menu
50. Decide on hors d’oeuvres
51. Decide on dinner-service style
52. Decide on staff-guest ratio
53. Decide seated or buffet
54. Reserve vegetarian meals
55. Reserve band/photographer/videographer meals
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
march 13th—1:37 A.M.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more complicated, overwhelming, or confusing…
I HAVE A SEX DREAM ABOUT MY CONGA-DRUM-PLAYING, EXCEEDINGLY HANDSOME, EX-BOYFRIEND RICK!
In exactly three months and nine days I’m committing to be with Stephen for the rest of my natural life, and here I am dreaming about Rick playing my bare bottom like a conga drum of love while riding a Ferris wheel at Coney Island?!
march 13th
I am totally freaked by my Rick sex dream. After he played my bare bottom he played the rest of me. For hours.
Really well.
I don’t know what to do. I have to talk to someone about this, but who can I tell? I feel so dirty and guilty and ugh!
I can’t stop calling Stephen.
ME
Hi, honey. It’s me. I love you. I love you so much. I really, really do.
STEPHEN
Is something wrong?
ME
No! Why would you say that? How could anything ever be wrong between us?