Diary of a Mad Bride (31 page)

I
just got our wedding gift from Mandy and Jon. It's an orange enamel stock pot, and I just know it's a reject from their wedding. It's not from our registry, it's not their taste, and it's certainly not ours. Mandy knows we registered for stainless steel. It's in a nondescript box without any store name, so I can't return it or check to see that they actually bought it.

The thing just screams
RE-GIFT, RE-GIFT, RE-GIFT!

It'd be one thing if they couldn't afford to buy us a gift, but they're the most affluent friends we have. And to think Stephen and I spent all that money on their damn fluted crystal vase. I feel like I should mail a thank-you note to the
original
sender.

A
fter two hours of deliberation the jury has found in Stephen's favor. They are awarding him $100 for each of his thirty-six stitches. That's $3,600! I almost wish he'd had forty!

Who knew Stephen cracking his head on the ground was a stroke of such luck!

This is a godsend. We need this money
so
badly. And to think, we owe it all to Larry. And the best part is that since he agreed to represent Stephen for free—as a wedding present to us—we actually owe him nothing!!!

A
s soon as I'm back from my honeymoon, assuming I survive this wedding, I'm suing
Beautiful Bride
for everything they've got. Seventy-five percent acceptance rate, my ass! We've got 115 people coming! That's 95.8333 percent! There goes that “extra” money from Stephen's lawsuit.

So much for solvency.

H
aving been actively involved in the wedding planning process for a mere twelve days, Stephen has officially begun to worry—the rehearsal dinner, Misty's relatives, his tuxedo, his brother Tom's refusal to wear a tuxedo, Larry's prospective toast, the cake…blah, blah, blah. Amateur.

Meanwhile a stray cat crossed the sidewalk in front of me today. I was fairly certain that it was dark brown, but it
could
have been black. I'm not usually the finger-crossing, salt-tossing type of superstitious person, but it's EIGHT days before one of the biggest events of my life. Not to mention the fact that the proofs for my “Faces” issue are due tomorrow. So who could blame me for chasing the cat down the block, across the street, through an alley, and into a Dumpster just to make absolutely positively certain that it was dark brown?

L
ucy's doctors are concerned that travel will exacerbate her circulatory problems.

She can't come to the wedding.

I've been crying all day. What's the point of having a wedding if Lucy can't be there to share it with me? It's been her unfaltering support that has gotten me through these past few months.

My 115-person wedding suddenly feels very lonely.

A
nita called and invited me to dinner at Snap Dragon—a Chinese restaurant in SoHo. I assumed she wanted to apologize for callously refusing to buy my hair comb. But Snap Dragon's carnival atmosphere of music and booze hardly suited my mood. After all, hair combs, wedding dresses, and obnoxious Tom were meaningless in the face of Lucy's absence. But Anita insisted and I reluctantly agreed.

Thank goodness, because it turned out to be my wedding shower. Anita-style! Snap Dragon's back room was
filled with my girlfriends—Mandy, Paula, Kathy, Jenny, Suzy…even Nicole was there. And for the next four hours we ate, drank, laughed, reminisced, yelled at the top of our lungs, stood on tables, and made a total spectacle of ourselves.

It was one of the most incredible evenings of my entire life.

Here were all of my girlfriends joyfully celebrating not only my wedding but our years of friendship. Humorous stories were shared. Humiliating tales were told. And then there were the gifts: lingerie, sex toys, a
Dustbuster
? Paula gave me a salon gift certificate for two. Nicole returned a doll she'd spent our entire childhood denying she'd stolen. And Anita, forever impressed with Gram's moxie, gave me a book,
How to Make a Jewish Home.

Later in the evening, as a man dressed like a firefighter strutted across tabletops stripping down to a leather G-string, Mandy quietly whispered in my ear, “By the way, have your sex dreams stopped?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Mandy smiled. “That's good to hear.” Pouring herself another glass of wine, she absently looked around the room. “So what did you do? Use a book? A shrink?”

“No, the dreams just stopped on their own. Why?”

“No reason.”

Mandy never says anything for no reason. And I was acutely aware that she was changing the topic when she asked if I'd purchased wedding shoes. But I told her my humiliating fat feet/Manfield Blossom story anyway. She just shook her head. “You really don't want to find wedding shoes.”

Is she kidding?! “Of course I do. I'm getting married in
six
days.”

“Exactly. And if you find wedding shoes you'll have
nothing left to worry about
except
the fact that you're getting married in six days. Those shoes are just a scapegoat for your wedding anxiety. Trust me. I did it too. Except my scapegoat was those damn Holland tulips.”

But before I could marvel at my own powers of deception, Nicole sat down next to me and lit a cigarette. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I've got a favor to ask. Since Chet's obviously not coming to the wedding, I'd like to bring Pablo.”

Great. “First off, smoking's bad for your health. Second, don't you think it's a bit premature to be inviting Pablo to family events? Mom and Dad are going to be really upset.”

“True, but it's your wedding, so they can't make a scene.”

That's what she thinks. But how could I say no? After all, if she's willing to celebrate my wedding as her own marriage falls apart, the least I could do is allow her a date.

A
s a politically correct gesture Stephen came to my apartment after his bachelor party last night. At three in the morning he stumbled in, drunk out of his mind, slurring his words, and stinking of cigars.

Oh, yeah. He was wearing a Viking helmet.

It was hysterical. After professing his love and slobbering all over me, he passed out partially clothed.

I took some Polaroids for posterity.

As soon as I got to work I called Mandy to compare notes. Had Jon also returned home wearing a Viking helmet? Mandy didn't know. She'd been in the shower when Jon returned home at
7
A.M.
“What do you think they did until seven in the morning?”

I don't even want to know. “Played some pool. Ate breakfast.” Yeah, right.

I
've shredded my “Things To Do” list. I now understand that
Beautiful Bride
and Prudence, with her flawless skin and million-dollar dress, are agents of the devil. Who else would promote the following:

#47. Make table-seating charts

If my guests can find their cars in the mall parking lot, then they'll have no trouble finding an empty chair in my parents' backyard.

#52. Decide on staff-guest ratio

How's 1 to 115? Rest assured that my guests have all been to the salad bar at Wendy's. They'll be able to serve themselves just fine.

And my personal favorite:

#58. Hire limo for church-reception transport

Limousines and the Thomas family. It's like cooking truffles with Pam. How ridiculous.

Face it. My “Things To Do” list is simple: find shoes.

A
nita called to confirm the plans for my rehearsal dinner.

ANITA

Oh, there's one more thing. It's not a big deal, but I think I should mention it.

I thought she was going to harass me some more about the hair comb. But I was wrong.

ANITA

In the thank-you note you sent me, you misspelled the word “appreciate.”

ME

What are you talking about?

A-p-r-e-c-i-a-t-e.

ANITA

No, it's a double “p.”

ME

Are you certain? I mean, like you absolutely verified it with a dictionary AND a secondary source?

ANITA

Yes, Merriam-Webster's and my higher-than-average IO. But don't sweat it. Just spell it correctly in the rest of your thank-you notes.

What “rest” of my thank-you notes? I've already sent out seventy-six with the line “We greatly apreciate your gift….” Every one of our wedding guests must think I'm a complete moron!

ME

Are you certain that one “p” isn't some alternate British spelling?

I
used Paula's gift certificate and went to the salon after work. I'm sure she assumed that I'd take Mandy with me, but I took my mother instead. After getting a haircut and a massage, we had our toenails painted matching shades of red.

This was the first time since we started to plan this wedding that my mother and I spent quiet time together. For the last ten months our meetings had been consumed with hysterical family members and the crazed minutiae of a “Things To Do” list.

But here we were, three days from the wedding, still breathing. It was a miracle. A miracle my mother had worked incredibly hard to bring to fruition. Without her, I might have had a decent wedding dress, but I probably wouldn't have had a wedding. Terry Thomas had delivered with flying colors for her firstborn. Sure, she did it without the fanfare and emotional fervor I had hoped for, but as I was finally beginning to realize, that didn't diminish her sincerity.

So as our toenails dried a heartfelt shade of red, I told my mother how much I loved her, then thanked her for all her help.

Reclining in her pedicure chair, aglow with post-massage bliss, my mother put her hand over mine. “I know you think Nicole is some sort of family favorite. But it's not true. My guarded enthusiasm for your wedding had everything to do with how much I love you. When your sister first decided to get married, I was thrilled. I felt it was the natural conclusion to what had already been a long and happy relationship. And because of that I threw all my energy into her wedding, never once stopping to consider if it was a sound idea. Then as time passed and I saw how her marriage was
evolving, I began to reconsider. I began to wonder if it had been a mistake. It had nothing to do with Chet. I've always felt that Chet is an extremely decent human being. It's just that they were so young, and they'd really never dated anyone else. And since I never took the time to think about these issues before they wed, I've spent the last five years praying that they'd done the right thing. Except now that they're divorcing, I know they didn't. And I can't help but blame myself. Yes, it was Nicole's decision, but I'm the mother. I should have taken better care of my baby. Because that's what mothers do. And that's why I was cautious about your marriage. It wasn't because I'm indifferent to you. It's because I love you.”

Me too, Mom. I love you too.

A
fter trying on every white shoe in the city of New York, I returned to the Kenneth Cole store two blocks from my house and bought the same white satin sling-backs I tried on ten months ago. They're simple, they're classic, and they're affordable. If only I'd bought them ten months ago, I could have saved myself a ton of anxiety. But Mandy's probably right. If I hadn't agonized over my shoes I would have found something else to agonize about.

One thing's for sure—I'm NEVER taking them off.