Wedded Bliss?

I was at a wedding – actually let me clarify – I was in a wedding this weekend.

And the bride told me that she threatened the groom the night before, that if he wasn’t going to be better with her, maybe she shouldn’t be marrying him.

I quote.

“I had to smarten him up.”

It was over his ability to get his family to decorate the hall.

Is that what love is really like? Am I missing something to believe that you shouldn’t marry someone if your life is a game of one-uping each other? It was really heart breaking.

I may not be the biggest believer in marriage for me … but when it comes to getting married, I’m a traditionalist – you will love and honour and respect the other person.

You will communicate with each other. Include each other in thoughts, share stresses, talk about dreams. The person is your best friend.

But, then … I was one of four single people at the wedding – one was a widow and the other two had boyfriends – so what do I know about love.

 

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Adventures in wedding bliss: Learning to say no

I need to learn how to say no – and that has nothing to do with my relationship(s) with men.

I need to learn to say no to this question:

“Will you be my bridesmaid/maid of honour?”

The problem is you can’t say no to that because the bride clearly feels that you are a big enough part of her life that she wants to include you in her special day … or she thinks you are the right combination of organized and life of the party.

There is a saying, “three times a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

What about five times?

I didn’t mind the first couple – one was my best friend and the other my best friend from high school, but now I find myself in a wedding party for a girl I’ve not really spoken to in three years.

It’s not that I don’t mind being in her wedding – I’m happy she wants me around, we hung out for a short period of time, but we had fun and were close for the years we lived in the same city.

I’m just not looking forward to planning a stagette, shower, and activities for the girls on the day of the wedding. I didn’t really want to have to pay for a new dress (which I’ll totally – not – be able to wear again), shoes, transportation, wedding gifts, shower gifts, booze, lunches …

The best wedding I was in, I was told via a giant courier envelope that arrived from overseas. Inside was a bright red, floor length bridesmaid dress and a note.

If the saying three times a bridesmaid, never a bride, is based on the idea that a young woman who had been a bridesmaid three times was unable to catch the eye of unmarried males, then she never would, this wedding shouldn’t count. By my understanding, there will not be any single men in attendance.

But there will be booze.

And I guess I should be glad that I’m a bride attendant now and not in the olden days when the goal was to confuse evil spirits by dressing in identical clothing to the bride and the groom.  These spirits were known to give the couple bad luck.  Being dressed like the bride, the evil spirits would not know who was getting married.

Does this mean those bridesmaids would pick up extra bad luck?

I guess I shouldn’t complain because all I have to do is hold an extra bouquet, sign a piece of paper and help find something old, new, borrowed, blue.

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Small action, big impact — the art of flowers

So I’ve met a man that sends flowers.

Not ‘I’m-sorry’ flowers or ‘oh-shit-it’s-our-anniversary’ flowers, but, ‘it-was-nice-to-meet-you-and-I-hope-we-can-keep-in-touch’ flowers.

I was at a wedding, which I realize isn’t that newsworthy seeing as lately I seem to be attending them nearly monthly. This particular wedding was one that was set to be particularly awkward, ex-boyfriends, old schoolmates I haven’t kept in touch with, a virtual minefield.

There were a couple of people there that I didn’t know and one of the ­— fortunately for me — single men and I quickly made a pact. He would recuse me if I look particularly trapped by a conversation or a person.

And he did, with class, on more than one occasion.

Fast forward a great evening filled with music and dancing, an afternoon of great conversation and excuses to stay longer and a promise by him to get in touch … and I walked away.

I figured it was what it was, a great chance meeting between two people who live on opposite sides of the planet. He would fly back to his continent and that would be that.

And after a week of not hearing from him, I had myself convinced that whatever dizziness I thought I felt was likely due to the corset like dress and I didn’t really care.

That Friday, our receptionist called me to the front. The flowers were beautiful and the note simple. It was perfect.

After explaining that no, I didn’t sleep with him nor really anything other than talk, the women in my officer were blown away.

And admittedly, I was as well.

At that moment, I realized I had another rule for living: enough with the men who are good enough or fill a void, wait for those guys who treat you in the way you deserve.

I hardly know him, but find myself curious over how good things could get.

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Going From a Five to a 10, the Wedding Waiter Theory

The understated, hardworking waiter. Flickr photo by hansvandenberg30

Have I ever explained my wedding/waiter theory?

It’s like the female equivalent of beer goggles.

It starts with the basic 10-point scale, with one being the lower end of who you would date and 10 being the cream of the crop.

So in my books waiters are usually about a five. They are often cute, although not particularly smart or well spoken. I’m not being mean, most waiters my age are aspiring actors or models or something, or they are really young … anyway.

But those waiters that are with catering companies or at hotel banquet halls are used to wedding parties and the unyielding cravings and requests of psycho bridezillas and her handlers – er bridesmaids. So they are really attentive, which means a five quickly becomes a six.

Now as the night wears on, I usually start to realize I am among the last single girls at the party and despite the number of times I explain that it’s by choice, I grow tired of the sympathetic looks. So, I start to think about, well, maybe I should be dating someone. And suddenly that attentive waiter is a little cuter, so say a seven.

Weddings are so good at making us single girls second … um, third, guess our status.

By the time the fourth slow dance is on — during that in between time between the “wedding” ending and the “party” starting — the wait staff is growing as tired as I am. So usually I sneak outside and chat with them in necessity for my sanity. Turns out that waiter? He’s pretty funny … and suddenly an eight.

And when it comes to booze at the wedding, the waiters control the flow of wine. Any man that keeps the alcohol flowing, in a responsible manner (of course), gets a point just in principle. And now he’s nine.

The party starts, I love to dance, so spend most of the night on the dance floor, awkwardly two-stepping with random members of the bridal party, spinning around with actual ballroom dancers, getting my grove on with other girls standing in a circle.

The waiter then usually materializes with water and, just before I leave, they get my coat. Clearly, I’ve under-valued the waiter, he’s clearly at 10 and I’m obviously in love.

I bat my eyes and gush at how awesome the waiter has been for the evening. Then, fortunately the self defense mechanism kicks in — run at the feeling of love.

I go home alone and in the morning wake up, bordering on a hangover, but still, blissfully single.

This theory is also valid at bachelorette parties, where, as the token single girl, you are expected to “get into more trouble” than everyone else … or at least provide the entertainment. I’ll have to tell you about Tony from Texas one day.

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Lessons from a third–time bridesmaid, with three dresses to show for it

Another wedding dress, another wedding

So I’ve been in a number of wedding parties over the past couple of weeks and I’ve learned a few things.

First of all, it’s likely I will never wear the dress again. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful and I am glad I have an excuse to dress up in it … but the number of formal events I attend that require floor length ball gowns is significantly limited.

If I show up another wedding as a guest with it, people will wonder if I’m the sole bridesmaid that didn’t get the memo as to what I should be wearing.

I’ve already had prom and grad, and another grad and well, they’re just too formal to wear to work.

Something else I’ve realized is while I might suck at being the supportive bridesmaid or maid of honour leading up to the event — I mean I’ve never really been able to channel that perfect gasp of excitement when I’m shown the perfect candle or flower or piece of fabric, or— but, I make up for it the day of.

I’ve done assistant bride thing often enough that I know to carry double sided tape, for the bride, and other bridesmaids, my clutch stuffed with the brides lipstick, blotting papers and a tide-to-go pen, which yes, really can get raspberry coulis out of a white satin dress, and I know when food, fruit  and booze are required.

The first is for nourishment, the second for a sweet kick and the final as something to calm down nervous brides or hyperventilating, first-time bridesmaids.

I’ve used double-sided tape to keep straps on shoulder, dresses on chests and to create last minute hemline changes — the last one is a lot harder than it sounds.

I always take my car to these events, I’m not cynical, well maybe a little, but if an escape route is needed, there should be one provided — fortunately I’ve never had to use it. Although, that might cut down on the number of times I’m asked to be a bridesmaid.

At the last rehearsal I attended, the minister said to me, he could tell I’d done this before. He brought up a good point, I should start charging.

A calm, unmarried, bridesmaid with the ability to herd people, even if they are like cats, an ability to get people out on to the dance floor and a smile screwed firmly into place is a good addition to any wedding party, right?

And in the morning, I’ve often been the only bridesmaid (or guest), who is sober and not hung-over enough that I can help clean the hall or help organize a family barbecue or entertain the random family members, who are bored with sitting at their hotel room.

I’ve been a bridesmaid three times in the past year — and attended countless others in the past five — I think that’s enough weddings for me.

The good news is I think I’ve run out of unmarried friends.

The saying goes, ‘three times a bridesmaid, never a bride,” well as long as I don’t have to attend another wedding, I think I’m okay with that ­ — at least for now.

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