My wedding anniversary is coming up and I was doing some reminiscing when I realized a harsh truth. I think I was a bridezilla.
This thought was very upsetting to me because for years I pictured myself as the serenest of brides. But after going through some wedding photos it hit me like I had just been smashed in the face with a wedding cake that I was possibly out of control.
It started with a memory of my sister and I ready to do battle with marble rolling pins. In my defense I had found her trying to take a marble rolling pin that was sent to me as a wedding gift.
Upon being questioned she told me that since I had gotten two marble rolling pins as gifts she, as my maid of honor, was taking one as payment for putting up with me.
This was when we, two women in our 20s, each picked up a rolling pin and were ready to use them as weapons.
Thankfully my mother walked into the room and sanity was restored.
Shortly after that episode I got into a fight with a relative over a bridesmaid dress. This relative was the mother of one of my bridesmaids and because she apparently had zero common sense allowed her daughter to wear her bridesmaid’s dress to prom.
The problem with this decision was that my wedding was two weeks after this prom and the dress got stained and the hem ripped. So, basically the dress was ruined and my response to this was a curt, “Well, it’s too bad she can’t be in the wedding anymore.”
My mom was aghast at how I handled the situation. But I proudly told her that it was a sign from God because this relative, besides letting her daughter wear her bridesmaid’s dress to prom, had allowed her child to get a hideous perm and I was certain her “hair helmet” would have ruined the wedding photos. (My mom ended up solving the dress issue.)
Then I think I must have entered a fugue state because the night before my wedding I accused my soon to be mother-in-law of poisoning her son because she didn’t want him to marry me.
My betrothed had been experiencing debilitating stomach pains for two days. At no point did it ever occur to me that perhaps it was from nerves or the possibility that he didn’t want to marry me. Because who wouldn’t want to marry me?
As someone who read way too many Agatha Christie novels I immediately deduced that my fiancé’s stomach issues had to be due to poison.
My second deduction was that the only person who would benefit from the groom being too sick to get married would be his mother because she most incorrectly didn’t think I was amazing.
When I shared this theory with my parents they both said nothing. My grandmother who never met a pot she didn’t want to stir eagerly agreed with me saying, “Oh, I got a feeling from that woman. You know some mothers would do anything to keep their sons from leaving them.”
Right after that statement both my parents started laughing and my dad told me my soon to be husband’s stomach problems were probably from the sheer excitement of marrying me.
I agreed wholeheartedly because who could argue with what most certainly had to be a fact.
Now almost 41 years later I’m appalled. But I’m going to go with all’s well that ends well. It’s much more pleasant than thinking about my past behavior.
👰♀️ 👰♀️ 👰♀️
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