The Weekend Of Wedding Awesomeness

The weeks flew by. After unanimously deciding upon the bridesmaid dresses, I dutifully ordered and paid the deposit on my gorgeous, chocolate brown Watters and Watters dress. I shopped for the shoes I’d wear on the big day and continued to plan for the bridal shower, keeping track of RSVPs and making lists of any last-minute items I might need. Finally, the Weekend of Wedding Awesomeness, so dubbed by the bride, had arrived. The plan was straightforward enough: get drunk Friday at the bachelorette party, use Saturday to sober up, and attend the shower Sunday at noon. Everything was on schedule to be perfect. And then, family happened.

Armed with a guidebook and map, my partner’s family chose to visit the same weekend as the Weekend of Wedding Awesomeness. I explained the situation and, to my relief, my in-laws were understanding and accommodating. Though I desperately wanted to spend time with my seven-year-old niece, I knew my commitment was to Danielle. This, after all, was her weekend and I wasn’t about to ruin it.

Minus a few hiccups, the bachelorette party went well. I’ve never been the best around large groups of new people, so it wasn’t terribly surprising that I found myself relegated to the corner for most of the evening. The fact that the other women ignored my attempts to join in was disappointing, but I didn’t let a little off-kilter chemistry get me down. My priorities were set on Sunday’s bridal shower.

Oh, the bridal shower.

This was my chance to seriously fulfill the role of bridesmaid. I would kiss-ass, charm, entertain, and delight not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I took my role as bridesmaid seriously and hoped Danielle would realize just how dedicated I really was.

I don’t have a car, so Danielle and Sam—who had flown in for the weekend—picked me up at my home bright and early Sunday morning. With a sheet cake, 72 rolls of toilet paper, and three bags full of games, prizes, decorations and favors, I made my way out the door blissfully ignorant of the trouble ahead. Danielle drove the 60 minutes to her mother’s house, and, just as we were pulling up, the other bridesmaids, Elizabeth and Jennifer, arrived.

The bride’s mother immediately greeted us and helped us into the kitchen, where Sam and I started preparing for the day’s festivities. There was fruit salad to make, chicken salad sandwiches to put together, decorations to set up and prizes to display. Sam and I worked tirelessly to make everything perfect. Apparently, we were doing damned good jobs because Elizabeth and Jennifer had made themselves comfortable in the living room and weren’t about to leave their Lay-Z-Bridesmaid thrones.

With no time to argue, Sam and I kicked it into higher gear. Drinks still had to be iced, games needed to be set up, silverware, plates, cups, napkins, and favors needed to be positioned. My last task was to put the finishing touches on a game and I needed a computer to do so. I had to print out 20 sheets of paper with questions participants would answer about the bride—something that couldn’t be done until the day of the shower. Murphy ’s Law was, of course, on my side. The computer the bride offered me didn’t have Microsoft Word, so the file I had created prior to coming was useless; I was forced to type out questions in Notepad. Unfortunately, the computer’s 3-in-1 printer printing function wasn’t working, so I resorted to handwriting the questions—all 20 sets of them. As I was doing this, guests were arriving. The shower was about to start and for me, it was a race against time. I heard the bride introducing her guests to her bridesmaids. Just as I was about to greet the group, Danielle loudly proclaimed, “…and the last bridesmaid in the other room putzing around on the computer!”

Putzing!? What? I was so—never mind! I didn’t have time to be angry. The party was starting and it was my goal to ensure everyone had a fabulous time. I smoothed down my dress, took a deep breath, put a smile on my face and entered the guest-filled living room.

The Honeymoon Period

My forte into the world of real, probably-going-to-happen-but-not-counting-on-it bridesmaidery began with a quaint lunch at a local seafood restaurant, where all of the women in the bridal party were introduced to one another. There was the Maid of Honor from a far-away state, Sam; the extroverted red-headed belly dancer Elizabeth; and the blunt but seemingly loveable Jennifer. The group was solid and I had high hopes. Enthusiastic about the event, everyone agreed to pitch in and assignments were doled out. Sam would take on the brunt of the work, essentially being the go-to woman the day of the wedding. Elizabeth agreed to arrange the bachelorette party and I happily volunteered to take on the bridal shower, a task that had me working alongside the bride’s mother. Jennifer agreed to split her efforts between the three of us, helping out when and where she was needed.

Feeling a burst of energy from our luncheon, I raced home and, for all intents and purposes, turned into Martha Stewart. With 35 people on the shower’s guest list, I envisioned a sophisticated, rustic-chic-themed party for 20 or so women, complete with elaborate invitations, eco-friendly favors, and a cake that matched the bride’s high-end taste. I coordinated with the bride’s mother, who generously offered her home and agreed to cook for the shower. I would be responsible for the games, favors, prizes, decorations, cake, invitations, envelopes and who knows what else.

The bill for this extravagance wasn’t cheap, but I didn’t mind. I knew my reward was to come: Danielle was a good friend deserving of great bridesmaids. In return for our favors, she promised to treat us to manicures and pedicures the day before the wedding. Besides, weren’t Sam, Elizabeth, Jennifer and I all in this together? I was certain they would recognize my efforts and offer their own contributions.

Finally, I sent e-mails detailing my plans to the bride and the rest of the women in the wedding. Content that I was off to a great start, I sat back and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

If the other women were as excited as I was, they certainly weren’t showing it. Like a good Midwest girl, though, I gave them the benefit of the doubt: everyone must be busy. When it became clear that no one was going to offer suggestions or advice, however, I forged ahead with my plan, even more determined to be the bridesmaid I believed Danielle deserved.

Third Time's A Charm

With two invitations to be a bridesmaid and two subsequent retractions under my belt, my record wasn’t looking so hot. Forget 27 Dresses—I was 0 for 2. Still, I was able to put the past behind me and move on. I was continuing to enjoy my new job in my new home and was slowly but surely making friends. One friendship that blossomed early was with a woman named Danielle. Quirky like me, we got along fairly well, but by no means would I have called her a best friend. So when she asked me to be part of her wedding, I was surprised. Realizing the gravity of the situation and given my past strikeouts, I took a few days to make my decision. Could this really be it? Was my dream about to be fulfilled? Or would I once again get kicked to the curb?

Skeptical, I made certain Danielle was aware of my flubbed past. After she promised not to kick me out of her wedding, change the date, or otherwise ruin my chances at being the best damned bridesmaid ever, I said yes.

With that, the pre-wedded bliss began.

Danielle was to be married Memorial Day Weekend at The Danbury, an old Victorian farmhouse that sat on ten sprawling acres. The property featured a number of amenities, including short hiking trails, a manicured lawn, a large covered porch perfect for dancing, and a 50-year-old weeping willow that immediately caught Danielle’s eye. This is where she was to have her ceremony. Once the ceremony and reception site was booked, Danielle turned her attention toward entertainment. It wasn’t hard to come by. An avid dancer, Danielle had many friends in the performing arts community, including one of her other bridesmaids, who performed professionally with a group of belly dancers.

This was shaping up to be one fantastic wedding.

Second Isn't Much Better

My next opportunity to serve as a bridesmaid didn’t come until nearly three years later, when a close friend from high school announced her engagement to her life partner and very best friend. They were two peas in a pod. The happy couple met at the place where we all first met and became great friends: a mom n’ pop restaurant that was, for us, the catalyst to real life. It was where we all held our first jobs—the bride and I as waitresses and the bride’s fiancé as a busboy.

Harold’s Kitchen served as a backdrop to many fond memories and great first experiences, so it was no surprise when Allyson asked me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding. Like the first offer, I was ecstatic and honored—this time, even more so. For I was the only member of the wedding party that was not family. I beamed with pride at the thought that I would get to share my friend’s big day in such a special way.

As with most wedding parties, though, a complication quickly arose. By this point in my life, I was on my own and had landed a great job half-way across the country. Logistics would be difficult, but I would make it happen. Because the wedding was scheduled for early the next year, it meant I would forego Christmas with my family. Instead, I would use vacation time to fly home a few weeks into the New Year for the big bash. Before any of that could happen, though, the first point of business had to be addressed—dresses. Being that my friend had already chosen her gown with her mother at her side, the only thing left was my dress. At that same fateful bridal salon I had visited years previously, we found the perfect one: a chocolate brown, v-neck dress with that same satin sheen.

With the item number in hand, I flew back across the country, prepared to order the dress at a store near my home. As far as I knew, things were great. However, moments before stepping out the door to make the gown purchase, I called my friend to share with her the good news and catch up on wedding planning. As it turned out, a lot of planning had happened. So much so, that the date of the wedding had been moved up considerably. As for the wedding party, well, it no longer existed. The stress had simply been too much. Instead of having an all-out bash, Allyson had opted for a small wedding in her church, surrounded only by family.

This time, I could at least take solace in the fact that the news didn’t come in the form of public torment in front of my peers. But it was still hard to take. The scheduling change meant I would miss out on my friend’s most important day.