In January I briefly bemoaned my growing fear over being asked to participate in my brother-in-law's wedding. I've mentioned Frank's brother and his soon-to-be-bride here before. Now that Nineteen (who is actually 21 now, but let's keep rolling with her former pseudonym) is legally an adult, has graduated high school, and their baby boy is almost 18 months old, their next step is to get officially hitched. I give them lots of credit; they've been together for the past four years and while they both still smack of the stupidity that naturally comes along with young adulthood, they've matured a lot, have continued to grow closer together despite the challenges of unplanned parenthood, and are loving and stable parents. I'm quite proud of them, and I'm honored to be included in their wedding at the end of next month.
So why the fear, right?
Aside from the fact that we have to lug the entire family on a 10+ hour roard trip back to Frank's hometown in Louisiana, this is going to be one of the most ghetto-fab weddings known to man.
I was apprehensive in February when I went to be fitted for my gown. Strapless and long just didn't bode well for a woman of my broad-shouldered, chesty proportions and clumsy gait. And the color, dear frizzle, the color. For the love of Rainbow Brite. Of all the colors in the spectrum, Nineteen chose one of the most gawdawful shades of green that could possibly exist. I posted the pictures below to my Facebook back when I went for the original fitting. People said that I didn't look half as bad as I thought I did. Even though I've lost a bit more than 30 pounds since the fitting, I still feel like a linebacker for a football team called the Free Willy Whales in this dress:
I stuck up the wrong fingers.
I tried on my dress for the first time since losing the weight and I need to make an appointment to have it altered, because I put it on and it slipped right down to my knees. That should be good for the self-esteem but I still shudder each time I look into my closet and see it there staring at me through its protective plastic sheath.
Naturally, the groomsmen – Frank included – will be wearing matching "clover green" vests and ties, but I think I failed to mention that they will also being wearing white tuxes with long-tailed coats and shiny white shoes. Mmmhmm. Paired together, we will look like a matching 1up:
It does not help that whenever the topic of the wedding comes up for discussion, my sister Dani begins doop-dooping the theme to Super Mario Bros. Either that, or she starts singing "Under the Sea" from The Little Mermaid.
The ghetto fabulousness just doesn't end. There are eleven or twelve bridesmaids and groomsmen pairs, a maid of honor, a matron of honor, two best men, and two pairs of junior brides and grooms. I've known for a while that they plan to have everyone meet at a hotel a few hours before the wedding at which they've reserved a couple of rooms. The idea is that we'll all dress and primp together, which is not so unusual, I guess. The ghetto fab part comes in when you consider the conveyance that will be used to take the bridal party (at least the bridesmaids, from what I know) to the church. They've rented a giant white stretch Hummer limo…to take everyone two measly blocks down the street to the church. Seriously.
Then, I got really scared this Saturday when Nineteen called to let me know that she was having a meeting with her bridesmaids to discuss the details and that she would send me an email with an outline of the meeting, including a picture of the hairstyle she wants us to have. Knowing the so-so 'hood trend that things have taken thus far, I'm even more terrified of the hairstyle than I am of the dress. I stand a huge potential of suffering some serious workplace embarrassment. Given the fact that I plan on going to the stylist on Wednesday evening, attending work on Thursday, and then leaving with the family for Louisiana immediately afterward, everyone will see me in whatever style it is that Nineteen has chosen. I am not the type to make regular habit of going to get my "hurr did," so I'm sure that my 'do will not go unnoticed. I keep seeing visions of Nineteen choosing a hairstyle like this:
The email from Nineteen came last night. It seems as though the wedding hairstyle is still up for debate, so she didn't yet have a picture to include. However, she did send along the guidelines that she discussed with her bridesmaids at the meeting. I shit you not, folks; this is the actual cut and paste directly from my inbox:
Wedding 2010 Bridesmaid Meeting
1. Everyone needs to try on their dress to make sure it doesn’t need alterations
2. Discuss hairstyles, everyone’s opinion is needed
3. Discuss shoes, must not be visible if their not silver
4. Jewelry…. I will provide, no additional accessories allowed accept ring, but limited
5. Everyone must be at LaQuinta Inn at 12:30, Please be on time
6. Everyone’s makeup must not be dramatic, no extreme colors
7. Shave your armpits please
8. Nails must have silver tips, toes silver or natural colors
9. Please do not come to the wedding high or drunk
10. We need volunteers to help set up on Friday Sept. 24 after 4pm
Oh, hell to the yes, I'm afraid. I fear being a part of any group that needs to be reminded to shave their pits and not to arrive at a wedding lit up. Don't even get me started on the silver-tipped fingernails. Maybe I should view them as a bit of a "silver" lining. At least then I'll be able to flip the bird with flair.
Do tell: what is the most horrific wedding experience that you've been a part of, witnessed, or heard about?