Wedding Season

So far, Supe and I are only invited to one wedding this year. Miraculous, really, compared to other years. However, we are invited to a half-dozen wedding-related events, such as showers and bachelor/ette parties, and sorry-we-can't-invite-you-to-the-wedding-this-beer's-on-us bar parties.

No way we take this personally, there is a good reason for the dearth of nuptial invites: money and family. As a former wedding planner, I totally understand.

The average cost of having a traditional wedding is around $25,000, and most couples pay the majority of that amount themselves. When the caterer is telling you $200/head for the reception, you start crossing out co-workers and friends-of-friends off your invite list, replaced by relatives you've never met. As costs mount, couples start wishing they'd gone to Vegas with their best friends. By the time the invitations are ordered, the bride often despises every single person on the list. Ah, weddings--such joyful celebrations!

What I know and the couples do not is that the moment they assemble at their ceremony site, amongst their friends, loved ones, and hired help, all is forgotten and forgiven. All brides are beautiful and all wedding ceremonies, no matter how schlocky, will move you to tears.

Happily ever after.

Except when it all goes wrong. I have tons of Bridezilla stories, but only one Ugly Bride: After alienating the groom's family and children to the point they visibly fumed in their pews, the bride minced her fat way up the aisle, crocodile smiling at all around, as if to say, "nyah,nyah!" and clomping her way up the altar steps to stand by her decrepit (and rich) groom.

We in the audience viewed their backs and the preacher's curious stares. Our bride looked like a hippopotamus wrapped tightly in taffeta, our groom like a tuxedoed hat rack. After intermindable mumbling, the preacher pronounced them husband and wife. The bride raised the marriage license in her right hand triumphantly and pumped her left arm victoriously. Then she fell, ass over teakettle, down the steps, her taupe knee-high stockings and white pumps visible on flying tree-trunk legs.

The church erupted in laughter. Our porcine bride stood, brushed off her new husband's offer of assistance, and clutched him in one hand and the license in the other as she huffed toward the exit.

If you've got an Ugly Bride story, let's hear it!