I nodded. “Okay.” The au pair entered with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and I wondered who was watching Claire’s daughter.
I kept my opinions to myself while Claire and Donna went through a rundown of the decorations, but I spoke up at the suggested menu. “No mini crab cakes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Megan is allergic to shellfish.”
“What kind of Marylander is allergic to crab?” Claire laughed. “Is that even a real thing?”
“It is, and she’s allergic.”
“Is it an airborne allergy? Will she die if she’s in the same room as them?”
“No.”
“Well then she can just not eat the crab cakes.”
“It’s her shower. Don’t serve foods she can’t eat.”
Kelly and Jennifer nodded in agreement, but no one said anything. Claire stared at me and I realized that Caroline would probably be Claire’s personal lord and savior. Caroline was everything Claire wished she could be—actually rich, able to shut people down effortlessly to get her way. Instead she was a bratty gnome who was being mean to her future sister-in-law out of—what, exactly? Jealousy? Pettiness? Had her husband’s sister been mean to her and she thought this was how it was supposed to go? I had no idea. But I was the maid of honor, and this wasn’t going to fly.
Claire was still trying to formulate her next move, but I turned to Donna. “Scratch the crab cakes.”
Donna glanced at Claire, then back at me. She crossed them off the legal pad on her lap with a long motion.
“Any other shellfish on the menu?” Donna shook her head, not even looking at Claire, who was silently fuming. “Good. What’s next on the agenda?”
By the time I left Claire’s house, I knew I had made an enemy. Which perhaps I would have cared about if Megan liked her, but she didn’t. So instead of worrying about it, I was planning the blog I would write.
Remember Mini-Me from Austin Powers? Well I just met the wickedest of the wicked bridesmaids’ Mini-Me. I’d say I should get the two of them together, but that would be a disaster. Partially because the wickedest bridesmaid would eat Mini-Me for lunch （then spit her out, of course, because the wicked bridesmaids of the west don’t actually eat or digest food—pretty sure they survive on the consumption of human souls alone）， and then how would I explain to Bride C’s fiancé that I was responsible for his sister’s disappearance? If he hasn’t been reading the blog, I’m not sure saying that an evil bridesmaid chewed her up and spit her out like a shark does a surfer would mean anything.
It was uncanny, however, how much like a dollar-store version of a wicked bridesmaid of the west she was, with her Costco appetizers and her knockoff-purse-toting party planner. Granted, she didn’t grow up ridiculously rich, like the wicked bridesmaids did, which, if The Great Gatsby taught me anything, explains the difference in their behavior, old sport. The evil bridesmaids would never invite me to their houses to show off their green dock lights, because they don’t care what I think—I clearly don’t have enough taste （or money） to appreciate their belongings without salivating over them.
But this chick had the nerve, at Bride C’s housewarming party, to critique the house that Bride C and her fiancé bought when Mini-Me’s in-laws bought them their house. You don’t even OWN the glass house you’re throwing stones from, sister. Knock that off!
In other news, the queen of the evil bridesmaids snapped at other bridesmaids in an email! I felt a small amount of sympathy, but was mostly shoveling popcorn in my mouth while I watched all the drama. She then, of course, came after me, but could there be a rebellion brewing amongst the wicked bridesmaids? I’m twisting my hair into Princess Leia buns just thinking about the idea.
May the bridesmaid force be with you!
Alex texted me just after I hit “Publish,” with a picture of him holding two ties up to his neck. Which one?
The blue. Better with your eyes.
Does it go with what you’re wearing? He had a benefit for work that night and I had agreed to go as his date.
I made a face. You were married too long. We’re not framing pictures from tonight to put on the mantle.
Good point.
I still need to do my hair, so I’m gonna go shower. I’ll see you at six.
He sent a thumbs-up emoji.
“You look beautiful,” Alex said when he picked me up. I twirled for full effect. It was the only event all year where I could wear a cocktail dress of my own choosing, even if it was a few years old. And, though I would never admit it to Caroline, with the Spanx that Caryn had guilt-tripped me into buying, I felt really good in it. Was the underwear remotely sexy? No. But it wasn’t like my dress was coming off until I was alone, so who cared?