You can smell it in the fresh cut veggies in the Juice Press green monsters. You can feel it in forced smiles at engagement brunches. You can see the mixed emotions in their eyes as they mail in the RSVP. You know what it means. You can feel it all the way in your plums. It’s #weddingseason.
Weddings are great. My own love life might be a shit storm, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get down with a soppy love story. I will own and defend my staunch independence until I die, but I’m not about to sit here and tell you I don’t want a wedding of my own. Hell yeah, I want to get married one day. But right now, most guys I talk to end up shitting the bed. Or, you know, wetting it.
Anyway, the point is that I’m not, by any means, anti-wedding. However, a good friend recently asked me to be in her wedding. (She’s my big, for all my fellow ex-srat stars.) This is much, much different. I told her she was absolutely insane. Thanks for the offer, but please god don’t do this to me, to yourself, or to the best day of your life.
I’m not bred for the life of a bridesmaid. For me, weddings are a lot like being in a sorority was: I like being around it, but I am not qualified in the least to be a part of it. I wear way too much black for that. (For context: When I turned 21, my friends tried to make me wear a crown and a sash and I repeatedly tried to flush them down the toilet. Your standard, happy-go-lucky gal.)
Does Ms. Bride think that I’m going to wear pink and get coordinating Starbucks lattes and take pictures of us holding hands in some godforsaken field? Doesn’t she know I look a fool when trying to take a “candid” laughing picture? Can someone teach me how to hide my pain when she picks out a dress I’m inevitably going to need Spanx up to my face to look good in? I’m not good at this. I have absolutely no idea how to handle it.
Her bachelorette party is almost here, and I’m scared. Actually scared. Scared for my life. Scared for our friendship that I am bound to destroy. Does she know I’d rather sleep on hot coals than wear a bandage dress and stilettos? Do I get a stripper? Am I supposed to buy her flowers and a penis cake? How do I participate, but also not want to tuck ‘n’ roll out of the moving Amtrak on our way there?
Luckily, this girl is chill as hell. The only thing I’m not allowed to do for the wedding is not show up. And considering it’s in the Bahamas, I figure that’s easy enough. But if a chill girl is going to get all bridezilla on me, it’s absolutely going to be for her bachelorette party. She’s lying if she says she wants it low-key. No one wants it low-key. I need help, here. How do I make a girls’ weekend sophisticated and fun, but just a touch risqué?
The other bridesmaids better get on the glitter and tiaras. I’ll be over here channeling my energy into not bailing. In fact, they’re giving me the only assignment I can’t fail at: getting the penis cake. .
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