Still with me?
So why a blog? My roommate, who is thankfully NOT planning a wedding, suggested they make a reality TV show about my life. I don’t do reality TV. No judgment if you do, but it’s not my scene. Writing, however, is. And I figured if I could make some money off people laughing at my ridiculous existence, it would help pay off the astronomical debt I’m assuming by agreeing to be in all of these weddings. Seriously, I think getting another college degree would be cheaper!
In other words, welcome. Come for the drama, stay to laugh at my mistakes.
This is Bridesmania.
I proofread it and fixed a couple of typos. I felt a little guilty about trashing my siblings, especially when they had caused the least actual disruption to my life so far, outside of my own sense of failure at being significantly older than both of them and still single. Which really wasn’t their fault. But Jake had ridden his bicycle into my first car when he was thirteen, severely denting it, and Amy was just plain annoying, so it was all fair play, right?
Was it any good though? Would people want to read it? I needed an outside opinion, but my three closest friends were implicated in it.
Becca would be honest.
“Hey Becks?” I called toward the living room. I heard her mute the TV.
“What’s up?”
“I wrote a blog post. Will you read it and tell me if it’s any good?”
“Sure.” She sat down on my bed and I handed her my laptop. She nodded as she read along, smiling at the James Marsden line, chuckling about the horror movie mom names and laughing out loud at the Mariah Carey part. “Love it,” she said, passing the computer back. “But what happens if one of the brides reads it?”
I tilted my head. “I mean, what are the odds that that happens?”
“Depends where you share it. Probably stay away from your social media and the big wedding websites.” A grin spread across her face. “Wait. This is kind of like The Help. If you put something in there that the people you’re trashing wouldn’t want to admit to, they won’t acknowledge it’s you.”
I was skeptical. “But I don’t want to put in anything bad about my friends.”
“You wouldn’t, because that’s not who it’s being snarky about. Caryn already knows her friends are awful, Megan knows who you slept with, and Sharon knows her mom is a tyrant. But Caryn will deny up and down that it could be you because she would never admit that she said she doesn’t like them, and Sharon will do the same thing because she’s scared of her mom. And no guy is reading a bridesmaid blog. It’s foolproof. And you don’t even have to shit in their pie!”
I smiled at the reference. “Madison would probably be mortified if she read this, but I’m pretty sure she hates me anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. And it’s not like I know any details about her to put in the blog. And Amy doesn’t read.”
“I think you’re fine.”
“Does the title work?”
“It’s perfect,” Becca said. “What’s your second post going to be about?”
I grinned, feeling better already. “I have so much material. Where to begin?”
CHAPTER NINE
Megan did not make my resolution to avoid the male members of her bridal party until the rehearsal dinner any easier when she and Tim moved into their new house in early October.
“It’ll make the registry go so much smoother,” she confided on the phone one night. “Living in an apartment, we didn’t have room for anything. This way we can really pick out what we need.”
“Makes sense. Do you need help moving?” I prayed she would say no.
“No.” Thank you sweet baby Jesus. “But is your schedule clear on the twenty-first?”
“Umm,” I said. “Let me look, hang on.” I pulled out my bullet journal. Dress shopping with Amy the following morning, but nothing that day. “I’ve got nothing. What’s going on?”
“Housewarming party. No gifts. Just bring yourself.”
“No gifts for real, or you say no gifts and everyone shows up with one and I look like a jerk because I didn’t?”
Megan laughed. “No gifts. Especially not from the bridal party. You guys are already spending enough on us this year.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “The bridal party,” I echoed. “So we’re all invited.”
“Of course.” She sounded confused. “You’re our best friends.” Either she was doing a really good job of never speaking of the engagement party situation again, or in the chaos of buying a house, moving, and planning a wedding, my shame had been forgotten. I excused myself from the phone call shortly thereafter and planted myself firmly on the edge of my bed.