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Authors: Laura Wolf

Diary of a Mad Bride

BOOK: Diary of a Mad Bride
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A Delta Book

Published by

Dell Publishing

a division of

Random House, Inc.

1540 Broadway

New York, New York 10036

Copyright © 2001 by Laura Wolf

eBook design adapted from printed book design by Lynn Newmark

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Delta
®
is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Publisher.

ISBN 9780385335836

eBook ISBN 9780804181259

v4.1

a

Contents

Preface

July 10th

July 12th

July 15th

July 17th

July 18th

July 30th

August 1st

August 1st—11
P.M.

August 2nd—3
A.M.

August 2nd—4
A.M.

August 2nd

August 3rd

August 5th

August 6th

August 7th

August 9th

August 10th

August 11th

August 13th

August 14th

August 15th—12:30
A.M.

August 15th

August 16th

August 17th

August 18th

August 19th

August 20th

August 21st

August 22nd

August 23rd

August 24th

August 25th

August 26th

August 27th

August 28th

August 29th

August 30th

August 31st

September 1st

September 2nd

September 4th

September 5th

September 6th

September 8th

September 9th—2
A.M.

September 10th

September 13th

September 14th

September 15th

September 19th

September 20th

September 22nd

September 23rd

September 24th

September 25th

September 26th

September 29th

October 1st

October 3rd

October 4th

October 5th

October 6th

October 7th

October 9th

October 10th

October 10th—4
A.M.

October 13th

October 14th

October 15th

October 17th

October 20th

October 23rd

October 24th

October 25th

October 27th

October 28th—12:30
A.M.

November 1st

November 3rd

November 5th

November 6th

November 10th

November 11th

November 14th

November 15th

November 18th

November 19th

November 20th

November 22nd

November 23rd

November 23rd—9:30
P.M.

November 25th

November 26th

November 27th—1
A.M.

November 27th

November 28th

November 30th

December 1st

December 2nd

December 3rd

December 4th

December 5th

December 6th

December 7th

December 8th

December 10th

December 11th

December 13th

December 15th

December 16th

December 17th

December 18th

December 23rd

December 24th

Christmas day

December 27th

December 29th

December 30th

New year's eve—9
P.M.

January 1st

January 4th

January 5th

January 6th

January 7th

January 8th

January 9th

January 10th

January 11th

January 12th

January 15th

January 17th

January 18th

January 19th

January 21st

January 22nd

January 23rd

January 25th

January 27th

January 29th

January 30th

January 31st

February 1st

February 3rd

February 4th

February 5th—2
A.M.

February 5th

February 7th

February 9th

February 10th

February 10th—11
P.M.

February 11th

February 12th

February 13th

February 14th

February 18th

February 19th

February 20th

February 21st

February 22nd

February 23rd

February 25th

February 28th

March 2nd

March 3rd

March 4th

March 6th

March 7th

March 8th

March 9th—3
A.M.

March 10th

March 11th

March 12th

March 13th—1:37
A.M.

March 13th

March 14th

March 15th

March 16th

March 17th

March 18th—3
A.M.

March 18th

March 20th

March 21st

March 21st—10:30
P.M.

March 22nd—1
A.M.

March 22nd—2
A.M.

March 22nd

March 23rd—1:45
A.M.

March 23 rd

March 24th

March 25th

March 26th

March 29th

March 30th

March 31st

April 1st

April 2nd—2
A.M.

April 2nd

April 3rd

April 4th—1
A.M.

April 4th

April 4th—10
P.M.

April 5th

April 5th—11:30
P.M.

April 6th

April 6th—8
P.M.

April 7th

April 8th

April 10th

April 11th

April 12th

April 13th

April 14th

April 15th

April 16th

April 17th

April 18th

April 19th

April 20th

April 21st

April 22nd

April 23rd

April 24th

April 25th

April 26th—2
A.M.

April 26th

April 27th

April 30th

April 30th—10
P.M.

April 30th—10:30
P.M.

May 2nd

May 3rd

May 4th

May 5th

May 6th—2
A.M.

May 6th

May 7th

May 8th

May 9th

May 10th

May 11th

May 12th

May 12th—9
P.M.

May 13th

May 14th

May 15th

May 16th

May 17th

May 18th

May 19th

May 20th

May 21st

May 23rd

May 24th

May 25th

May 25th—11:30 PM.

May 26th

May 27th

May 28th

May 29th

May 30th

June 1st

June 2nd

June 3rd

June 4th

June 5th

June 6th

June 7th

June 8th

June 9th

June 10th

June 11th

June 12th

June 13th

June 14th

June 15th

June 16th

June 17th

June 18th—1:35
A.M.

June 18th

June 19th

June 20th

June 21st

July 5th

PREFACE
june 26th

M
y best friend, Mandy, is getting married, and no one is suffering more than my secretary, Kate.

KATE

I'm an administrative assistant. Not a security guard.

ME

And I appreciate everything you do for me. Didn't I get you that gift certificate from Saks last Christmas?

KATE

Macy's.
1

ME

Whatever you say. But I can't talk to Mandy right now. Just take a message.

KATE

I already did that. Six times.

ME

What'd she say?

KATE

“Urgent—Call me.”

ME

It's a bluff. Tell her I'm in a meeting.

KATE

That's what I said the first time she called.

ME

I'm in the ladies' room.

KATE

Used it twice. Once more and we'll be saying urinary tract infection.

ME

Hey, that's a—

KATE

Forget it. I have my pride.

ME

All right. Put her through. But if I'm not off the phone in three minutes call my other line.

KATE

You know, this wasn't in my job description.
2

Kate struts out of my office. I wish I could go with her. Instead I pick up the phone.

ME

Hi, Mandy. What's going on?

MANDY

Just the usual bridal nightmares.

ME

What nightmares? You found the guy. He found you. In just three months it'll be eternal bliss—

MANDY

Three months and two days.

ME

Like I said…Now relax and enjoy yourself.

MANDY

Oh, you couldn't possibly understand, Amy. You've never been married.

ME

Then why'd you call me?

MANDY

What?

ME

Never mind. Just tell your spinster friend what's ailing you.

MANDY

You're mocking me. Don't mock me.

ME

I'm not mocking you.
3

Suddenly there's loud sniffling on the other end of the phone.

ME

Don't cry, Mandy. Everything's going to be okay.
4

MANDY

I'm just so tired. Today the florist called to say that her original quote on Holland tulips was under by fifteen-point-seven-eight percent.

ME

Wow! Fifteen-point-seven-eight percent? How'd you even figure out how much that was?

The sniffles become sobs. Did I say the wrong thing? My other phone begins to ring. Kate's just earned a pay raise.

ME

Oops, there's my other line. I've gotta go. Just remember this is about you and Jon getting married. That's all that matters.

MANDY

But the tulips are an integral part of our floral concept.

ME

We'll talk soon!

I hang up. I know I should feel guilty, but all I feel is relief. Moments later Kate returns to my office with a scowl.

KATE

We both know she's calling back in an hour.

Kate—So young. So wise.

ME

You're probably right. Now tell me why getting married turns normal people into total freaks?

KATE

Don't ask me, Ms. Thomas. I'm not married.

ME

That's why I like you, Kate.
5

It's true and you know it. People who are about to be married magically transform into raging narcissists. They're like those robot dolls we had as kids. The ones that transformed from a human to a car to a prehistoric animal. Well, put a veil and a string of pearls on one of those T-Rexes and you've got yourself a bride-to-be whose personal evolution is powerful enough to sweep every living man, woman, and child into its turmoil. And that's not malicious. Just fact.

Trust me. I know.

Mandy's asked me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding this September. On a certain level it's flattering. She's been one of my closest friends since sophomore year in college. Stunning, determined—and extremely high maintenance—she's the only person I've ever known who arranged her clothes by season. It's an odd mix of awe and incredulity that seals our friendship.

But now the terms of that friendship dictate that I appear at her nuptial soiree in a yellow satin dress with an empire waistline. Mandy has convinced herself that the “buttercup” color and the empire waistline are a subtle yet elegant interpretation of Camelot-era gowns.
6

Yeah, right.

First off, the fabric may be called “buttercup,” but it's really “pucker-mouth lemon”—like cheap mustard at picnics and ballparks. Or New York City taxicabs. And only young girls with eating disorders look elegant in empire
waistlines. The rest of us look pregnant and dumpy. So you can forget Camelot.

But I'll wear it and smile. Because Mandy loves it and I love her.

Besides, I'm secure enough to appear in public as a livery vehicle. I'm an attractive twenty-nine-year-old brunette. I've even been told that I look like Julia Roberts. The Size 10 version. But shorter. With smaller boobs. So for one day I can endure the shame and humiliation of joining seven other women in pucker-mouth lemon dresses as we cruise down Mandy's wedding aisle to the tune of three hundred bucks a pop.

Oh, did I forget to mention
that
part?

And the spewing wallet doesn't stop there. There's still the engagement gift, the shower gift, the wedding gift—it all adds up.
7
Then there are the eight groomsmen who have to buy suits or top hats or full-body armor (I've been too afraid to ask). Not to mention the 250 guests she's invited to share in this intimate event, which she's been painstakingly planning for twelve long and laborious months…

I sound callous. I hate that, because I'm not. In fact, I try to be as patient and understanding as possible. I try to remember, as Mandy constantly reminds me, that I've never been through this. I really
don't
know what it feels like to endure the tumultuous storms that mysteriously accompany weddings. I try to remember that all those insane brides used to be my thoughtful, intelligent, truly enjoyable
friends. Women I loved being with. The whole “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” doo-doo.

But it's difficult. It's like they've been stricken with some Mad Bride Disease. And it's not their fault—it's the diet powder they've turned to in a desperate attempt to shed those extra ten pounds that they've failed to lose for the last thirty years.

Yet not for a second do I begrudge them their happiness—or their hysteria. I'm thrilled they've found soul mates, partners, whipping boys, playthings…Heck, life's hard. A spouse is an invaluable bonus. No one prepares us for the lonely weekends watching mediocre TV, wishing we had something better to do. Sure, I've got a great boyfriend and terrific friends. But boyfriends come and go and friends make other plans. A spouse is always on-call. You can stay at home and do nothing, because you're doing it
together.

But enough is enough. These days every time the phone rings it's another person calling to say she's getting married. They're bursting with excitement, spewing from the mouth, as their joy overfloweth for hours and hours and hours…Wedding dates, seating charts, flowers, registries, hors d'oeuvres, and gifts. Next they'll be calling about babies and twins and in-vitro fertilization. Hours of birthing details. Placentas, epidurals, and tearing. Do they
have
to talk about the tearing? Then it'll be Little League and Cub Scouts and car pools and extramarital affairs and couples therapy and divorce court…Soon I'll have to get a second phone just to order Chinese food!

Breathe. I must remember to breathe.

The thing that I really don't understand is the whole
desperation
to marry. I wasn't one of those little girls who sat around and fantasized about my wedding dress. I didn't know how I'd wear my hair or what type of flowers I'd hold. And I certainly didn't have visions of myself floating
down the aisle as hundreds of guests quietly weep into handkerchiefs while whispering in hushed tones about my exquisite beauty. My remarkable poise. My stellar choice of veil.

In fact, I pretty much assumed I'd never get married. I mean, why bother? I'm not religious. My family doesn't really care. And I have a sister who made it clear from infancy that she intended to lead the most June Cleaver existence possible, thereby assuring my family of at least one joyful nuptial.

I still remember the first week of college, when a girl in my literature class told me in all seriousness that college was our last chance to find a husband. According to her it was the last time we'd be in an environment with an abundance of men of the appropriate age, educational background, and financial strata. I was horrified. Here was an intelligent, good-looking, very young woman declaring that her main goal in college was to meet a mate.
8
College was simply an episode of
The Dating Game
honed to its sharpest point.

By junior year she was engaged to a guy with chronic dandruff and a history of kleptomania. She liked his sense of humor and thought his love of tennis would make him a good dad. She stopped talking to her friends and socialized exclusively with his. They were married two years later. I'm no devil-worshiping Satanist, but I just don't get it. Wasn't the whole point about birth control to liberate us from these shackles of dependency? Isn't that why we had the 1970s? Wasn't that why halter tops were invented?

And it's not like I'm “out of touch.” As the Associate Features Editor of
Round-Up
magazine, it's my job to know what people in New York are thinking and doing. And not just the Donald Trumps and models of the moment but
real people, who worry about public school violence and look forward to eating hot zeppoli at the next street fair. In fact, I'm so “in touch” that I've been appointed editor of next year's “Faces in the City” issue. So I know weddings are important and meaningful events. I just don't understand why they diminish my girlfriends' capacity for rational thought, increase their ability to cry tenfold, and entirely vanquish their fashion IQ. I mean, for God's sake,
I look like a taxicab with dyed-to-match shoes.

I think my sister, Nicole, innately understands my genetic inability to deal with marriage. Nicole, my vaguely younger sister, got married five years ago to her college sweetheart, Chet. A sincerely great guy. So storybook-touching it almost made me puke. But she was smart enough to plan the whole thing while I was backpacking through Europe. I returned just in time to slip into a pale pink spaghetti-strap dress and march down the aisle along with four of Nicole's nearest and dearest girlfriends.

The photos from that day are beautiful. People are joyful and excited, and then there's me. My eyeliner smeared into raccoon eyes and my pale pink dress so close to my skin tone that it looks like flesh.

Yeah, that's me. I'm the haggard naked chick on the left.

Nicole knew what I've suspected for a very long time. Weddings just aren't my bag.

1
Don't be fooled. The Macy's in Manhattan is really nice. It's their FLAGSHIP store. She was just angling for sympathy.

2
Technically an argument could be made against this comment. One of the nice things about working for a big corporation like Hind Publications is the way the employment contracts use broad, undefined terms such as “general support,” thus leading the way for grand abuses of power like the one you're seeing here.

3
I was totally mocking her.

4
That's right. Throw me a huge party, buy me an expensive dress, make me the center of attention, and to top it all off, shower me with gifts of my choosing, and I'll cry too.

5
That, and the fact that I love being called “Ms. Thomas,” even if it is by a twenty-one-year-old who has a Backstreet Boys screen saver on her computer.

6
That's Camelot as in Sir Arthur,
not
Jackie O.

7
People always say you don't have to bring a gift to the engagement party. They're lying. They never forget who brought what and who showed up empty-handed. The first person who told me engagement gifts weren't expected is still waiting by the mailbox for my present to arrive. That was four years ago. She stopped speaking to me after two. But I don't care. I'm not sending it on principle: liars really tick me off.

8
The degree she was getting in macrobiology? Merely a footnote.

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