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!

Rebekah W.

Every wedding has some funny story that follows. A bride slipping down the aisle, cake being smashed in the face, or that embarrassing uncle that you wish you didn’t invite. My story falls under none of those.

My friends and I are close, sisters in Christ, separated at birth you get the story. If someone does something silly or embarrassing, the others will not let you forget, and will bring it up when other conversations die. My friend Christina got engaged to a wonderful man on Valentine’s Day in 2009. They were and still are perfect for each other, the red headed duo!

The night of the rehearsal dinner, everything was going smoothly. The bride-to-be and her soon to be hubby sat next to each other surrounded by the wedding party. The maid of honor sat next to her across from her husband. I was sitting down a few seats away from the bride, talking to the other bridesmaids when suddenly there was a shout. The whole wedding party looks over and the maid of honor’s face was turning bright red from laughing.

What had happened was she had reached over the table and had knocked one of the candles in the middle of the table over and the hot wax had splattered all over the front of her husband’s pants! Thankfully, no real damage was inflicted, yet it left a lasting memory for all of us to look back on and laugh about.

The next day, my friend Christina married the love of her life in a beautiful church in Charleston. Tears came down her face as she said her vows, and some of the bridesmaids got teary too. To lighten the mood so she could talk, the maid of honor whispered behind her, “hot wax.” Christina got the joke and smiled, and she was able to finish her vows.

To wrap up this story, at the reception and as a surprise to the bride and groom one of the guys from our church dressed up as James Brown and danced and sang to them. No one was expecting it to happen, which made it funny and awesome. It was certainly a weekend to remember!

Sherrinda

Just walk down the aisle and ignore the mass of eyes glued on my belly. Seriously, haven’t people seen a six-month pregnant bridesmaid before? The only consolation was my sister coming in behind me, with her belly as big as mine. The poor bride, my youngest sister, had two out of her four bridesmaids pregnant and looking “oh-so-lovely” in our royal blue taffeta.

My sister, the matron-of-honor glows with pregnancy and she steps up to take her place beside me. My heart swells with pride as my three-year-old son walks through the doors and down the aisle. He holds a satin pillow in his hands and stomps up the stairs to stand between the groom and best man. Then my sister, the bride, comes in all her glory to meet her groom.

It was a lovely ceremony, but grew long. My son fidgeted, twisting around to gaze at the audience. Then to my horror, he stuck his finger up his nose and dug around for buried treasure. Not only did he find treasure, he promptly buried his treasure on top of the best man’s shoe. My cheeks grew hot. I hear a snort and a giggle behind me, and my preggo sister’s shoulders shake in front of me. I bite my cheek to stifle the laughter welling up inside.

I glanced at my sister, the bride, who is gazing at her groom with adoring eyes—oblivious to my son’s shenanigans. A snicker behind me made me glance back at my son. He was going for more treasure and the poor best man, hands clasped, his head facing the pastor, scooted his foot around, trying to dodge the gooey offering.

What do I do? I glanced at my husband sitting in the audience. He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. Ignore it. Right. A small guffaw sounded behind me and I turned around to see the last bridesmaid bent over at the waist, her body shaking with suppressed laughter. The bridesmaid directly behind me grinned at me, tears streaming down her face.

I turned back toward the front, and saw my son squat beside the best man, trying to get a closer shot at his shoes. The best man had given up, and let my son have his way, using the shoes as his canvas, adding more texture and depth.

“At least he isn’t eating them.” The whisper came from behind, along with a muffled snort.

I lost it, and from then on struggled with my pregnancy-challenged-bladder. My son continued to dig, and the giggles and snickers went on for what seemed like an eternity—until the pastor ended, and the bride and groom kissed.

My son got a huge round of applause when he exited the stage, and this not-quite-so-proud-momma was just thankful he hadn’t burst a blood vessel in his excavation.

Now that would have been a disaster!

Just in case you didn’t see my announcement on my Facebook page, I only received six entries in the March “Maid”ness contest. So there will be no voting—all six will be receiving a signed copy of The Brides of Bonneterre 3-in-1 omnibus when it comes out in May.

But, as promised, I will be posting the entries today through Friday for you to enjoy!

Regina M.

I’ve only been a bridesmaid in two weddings, and was matron-of-honor in both. My best friend’s wedding went smoothly. We won’t talk about the dark green, tea-length, off-the-shoulder taffeta bridesmaid dress, which we wore with opaque cream-colored hose and dark green shoes. Oy.

As if that weren’t bad enough, it would be my SISTER’S wedding that was the most nerve-wracking moment, almost, of my LIFE.

As I said, I was the matron of honor. What I didn’t mention was that both my kids were in it (4-year-old Ellen was a first-time flower girl), and husband a groomsman. In the flurry of making sure everybody ELSE was fixed up properly, I forgot one small thing . . . the groom’s ring . . .

When I realized what I’d done, I slowly looked out into the crowd. Fortunately, my aunt, in the audience, caught my eye when I went into panic mode. As a musician partner of mine from way-back, I just looked at her and mouthed, “The ring.” She instantly mouthed back, silently, “Where is it?” and proceeded to make her way to the dressing room, gave the ring to the last bridesmaid, then they palmed it up to me, first in line. My sister caught wind and her eyes got HUGE. My then-future-bro.-in-law thought he must have left off an article of clothing or something. . . .

Lady DragonKeeper

The flower girl was dressed as an Ewok, complete with a furry-eared hood. “Yoda” came next, waving his plastic lightsaber proudly as he ambled his way down to the beat of the iconic John Williams-composed theme. I sighed in relief when I saw the brown pillow strapped to his back still held two silver rings and that my nephew didn’t attempt the acrobatic feats of the character he impersonated.

Trista and Brandon had always been the types to go against “the norm,” so it shouldn’t have surprised when their wedding invitation mentioned: “Costumes keeping in theme is welcomed and encouraged! Please no Slave Leias or Twi’leks clothed for employ at Jabba the Hutt’s. Let’s remember the younglings and keep things rated G.” Don’t worry, they weren’t into the Jedi religion or anything like that. But since Bran and Tris met at a sci-fi convention two years ago, they thought it’d be fun to incorporate the love of Star Wars that brought them together into a unique and memorable wedding.

In college, Trista and I were avid cosplayers—the roommates who obsessively copied movie costume details with our ever growing sewing skills. While I never attended sci-fi conventions until I knew Tris, she was an old pro. Her father had been a fan ever since seeing Star Wars at the theaters in 1977 and she fondly recalled going to “cons” with her dad and older brother. Tim grew up to be a die-hard Trekkie, but we still attended cons together despite the lively debates the siblings had on topics such as “blasters vs. phasers” and “Who’s the better captain, Kirk or Solo?”

Before I knew it, I was at the front with the pastor and the rest of the bridal party. Brandon’s white shirt and black vest clearly echoed Han Solo’s and the rest of us were attired in various Jedi tunic/robe ensembles. As the delicate opening notes of “Across the Stars” began to play, the bride began her walk down the aisle, escorted by her brother.

Trista’s white gown rivaled that of a princess—Princess Leia, that is. Belted at the waist, the silky white fabric flowed in smooth lines down her body. If there was any question about who inspired her look, Trista’s long brown hair was knotted in two buns that covered her ears.

As the happy couple traded vows—then a kiss—I couldn’t help but think that the wedding had gone perfectly …

“May I now present Mr. and Mrs. Brand—”

Three uniformed Starfleet officers entered the courtyard followed by one Klingon wielding a bat’telh.

“What are they doing here?” I heard Trista whisper.

Tim was grinning like a Tusken Raider’s bantha in an oasis. He looked a bit handsome in a black ensemble that vaguely resembled Luke Skywalker’s Return of the Jedi outfit, but right now he seemed more like mischievous Anakin.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Trekkies.”