Sarah H.

I was maid of honor in a friend’s wedding. I only got the role because I was one of the few unmarried friends Kayla had (it was important that I be a true “maid” and not a matron) and I was the only one able to fit into the bridesmaid dress she had selected. When she started dating her husband-to-be, she and her mother selected the exact dress and dress size she wished her maid of honor to wear. The only other unmarried friend who was roughly my size (and Kayla’s first choice for a bridesmaid) conveniently claimed she had a prior engagement on Kayla’s wedding day. The fact that I was her second choice of bridesmaid, a detail which she surprisingly saw fit to tell me and the knowledge that she had preselected the size of her bridesmaid before becoming engaged should’ve told me what I was in for.

I was expected to help hand craft the wedding invitations—a purple frilly invite covered in butterflies and dripping in glitter. No matter how hard I scrubbed my skin afterwards, the glitter clung to me for weeks and there is still glitter in my car even to this day. In addition to helping the bride dress, I was supposed to ask the bride every 15 minutes if she was thirsty or had to go to the bathroom. So every half hour I would have to take the bride to the bathroom and have the bride sit on the toilet in case she didn’t know that she had to go.

Pictures needed to be taken before the ceremony, which caused the groom’s aunt to freak out and declare the day was doomed to bad luck if the bride and groom were to see each other before the wedding. She insisted Craig be brought into the room with his eyes closed so he couldn’t see Kayla in her dress and that he needed to keep his eyes closed throughout the pictures so he would be surprised when he saw Kayla at the altar. The photographer actually took a couple of pictures with Craig’s eyes closed. The bride’s family and the groom’s family then began to argue with each other for about ten minutes about whether Craig should have his eyes open or closed during the pictures. Finally, the bride and groom declared they didn’t want their wedding pictures to have Craig with his eyes closed and that they didn’t believe seeing each other before the wedding would result in bad luck. The groom’s aunt was so upset by this declaration that she left the room during pictures and had to be persuaded to attend the wedding. When it came time for the reception, the mother of the bride asked me to guard the gift table just outside of the reception hall, in case someone came in off the street and tried to steal the gifts. I stood at my post during the whole reception and didn’t even get a piece of cake.

Kate B.

Loretta asked me to be one of her bridesmaid two months before her summer wedding in our small hometown. She and her sister, the maid of honor, had chosen our off the shoulder, full-length bouffant yellow chiffon dresses from a catalog. Yellow is not my color. I look like a corpse, or at best, really, really tired. My friends continually check the whites of my eyeballs for any signs of jaundice when I have attempted to wear yellow. However, having been schooled by my mother in proper social graces, I only had kind remarks regarding the bridesmaid dresses.

“Wow,” I declared, “I think I can even wear this later. It’s a great summery color.”

My mother had to make alterations in the bodice and hem. I’m petite…in every sense of the word. Every time I tried on the dress, I felt like a small cardboard sun in a grammar school play about springtime, smiley face and all.

Rehearsal was a disaster. Loretta’s former high school English teacher had agreed to be the “wedding planner.” The mother of the groom, though, had usurped control, constantly interrupting and shouting out orders. The pastor, knowing this woman’s reputation, followed her directions like a well-trained dog on a leash. The rest of us rolled our eyes in frustrated silence until we could gather to complain.

The weather was sunny and breezy the day of the wedding. Loretta, barefoot and beautiful in her white sequined dress, walked the path through the rose garden to stand beside her love-struck groom. The ceremony went off without a hitch.

We adjourned to the community center for the reception. I filled my plate and took a seat next to Loretta’s mother. I had taken my first bite of potato salad, when the groom’s mother plunked her drink, her plate loaded with food, and herself directly across from us. She and Loretta’s mother engaged in conversation, and I visited with Loretta’s grandmother on my right.

Without warning, the groom’s mother reached forward slapping Loretta’s mother across the face. Loretta’s mother jumped out of her seat, stretched across the table and grabbed the other woman’s hair, pulling her face down into her plate of food. Both women stood on opposite sides of the table, growling like grizzly bears ready for battle. Their husbands arrived, dragging them into separate corners, imploring them to stop.

A tearful bride and groom pleaded with their guests, “Please, we just want to have fun. We just want everyone to get along, please!” Fortunately, the two mothers managed to refrain from any further fracas. I was one shocked bridesmaid.

Once again, congratulations to all six entrants, who will each receive a signed copy of the Brides of Bonneterre 3-in-1!