Picture it: A clueless 26 year old bride-slash-baby-mama. Her under eye circles didn’t need filler, and she was naturally radiant without a spray tan.
And now, because sh*t happens and nobody tells you how hard it is to ACTUALLY love someone ’til death do you part, picture that same girl divorced and moving on to Wedding #2. Only now she is financially independent, on the wrong side of 30, and doesn’t GAF about wedding etiquette or offending people.
Here is how it will go down:
**No bridal party. I know, I know. How will my friends know I love them if I don’t rank them like Bachelor contestants? Obligated Relative, Kind of a Bitch to Me in High School but Was There When I Got My First Period, Shared an Apartment and a Bong with Me in College, Has the Cubicle Next to Me at Work and Invited Herself, Has Seen Me Naked.
Let me tell you a secret: no woman WANTS to be in a bridal party. Ever. It’s the financial equivalent of a trip to Europe, without the Eiffel Tower Instagram pics to make your friends jealous. It takes over your life, like a newborn or a new series of Housewives. Brides tend to revert to their 3 year-old toddler temperament, so a regular event like dress shopping might end with crying, whining, screaming, and/or someone on the floor in the fetal position. Eff that. Enjoy the fact that I’m not going to outfit you in a blueberry Violet Beauregard nightmare, and wear whatever slutty dress you want to this party. Just don’t wear white, or I will strangle you with my veil.
**No penis-themed bachelorette party. The majority of women I know would rather get a 3-hour bikini wax than make direct eye contact with a penis, and yet all the sudden at bachelorette parties we are all, “Penises are sooooo cute! We just loooove penises!” I love parties and I love my friends, but I am old. My shoulder hurts when it rains. I go to bed at 9:43 p.m. every night, and I carry my purse around the house like Sophia from the Golden Girls. I don’t need to travel to the bathroom with 10 women wearing penis crowns, or do the Cupid Shuffle, or end up with a hangover so bad the air around me hurts. If my friends want to come over at 5 p.m., drink wine, watch an HGTV show where a hot carpenter remodels a kitchen, and leave by 9:30? It’s a party.
**No garter toss. I cannot think of anything more inappropriate (and I once showed my boobs to a stranger for a shot of Patrón, so the morality bar is not set very high) than the groom sticking his head up the bride’s dress to “fetch” the garter from her body and throw it into a mosh pit of his fraternity brothers. I am all for soft-core porn, so if you want to take your groom to the bathroom and peel his banana on your wedding night, God Bless. But in front of your new mother-in-law? Pass.
**Me, Me, Me. I am established adult with a 401k and what might be the first stages of arthritis in my left hand. I can pay for my own wedding. My mother doesn’t get to invite her Great Aunt Rita, and his mother doesn’t get to bring her Maltipoo. I can have cater-waiters pass out french fries while we recite our nuptials next to a volcano! I can be lowered from the ceiling and dipped in a pool of glitter while the Lemonade album plays on repeat! Screw the formality – I already had Wedding #1, and everyone and their Maltipoo was there.
© Calling All Cool Moms 2017