wedding stories
My sister got married last August. Her wedding ceremony was in my parent's living room, and her reception was held in a restaurant in a shopping center on a nearby lake. After we left the house to go to the restaurant, we realized that she'd gotten married on the day of our town's annual Asian festival, which was being celebrated at the same lake. All nearby parking lots were in complete pandemonium, and after me, Justin, and my mom and dad were lucky enough to snag a spot for our car, my parents decided that I should wait in the parking lot to claim a spot for my sister.
This sounded simple enough, and I stayed in the parking lot in the 90 degree heat while everyone else headed out to the restaurant. I raced around and stubbornly stood in spots while angry drivers blared their horns at me and yelled at me to move so they could park. Whenever I noticed a wedding attendant, I would give the spot over to them, and scout out a new one for my sister. After a while, a lot of guests had arrived, but there was no sign of my sister; and neither my she nor my new brother-in-law were answering their cell phones. And my parents weren't answering their phones, when I tried calling to see if they'd heard from them.
After about 45 minutes of this, I was dripping with sweat, my dress was covered in stains, my carefully straightened hair was frizzed, and my makeup was puddling over my cheekbones. I felt completely harried from having to combat irritated drivers, and miserable that I'd failed at helping my sister out on her wedding day; I pictured her stuck in traffic, frantic that she was missing her own wedding reception. I had a sunburn and a miserable headache, and I decided I'd go to the restaurant to at least get some water (and hopefully find someone else to take over my job). When I got there, my sister had already arrived; and when I found out she'd shown up over half an hour ago, and that no one had bothered to call and tell me, I burst into tears and headed straight for the bathroom.
I washed my face and mopped myself up the best I could, and calmed down enough to go back out and laugh it off to my family. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, and I didn't want to ruin that explaining that I felt physically wretched, and neglected and overlooked. So, I simply joked "well, I'm sure I'll have an even worse fit at my own wedding, don't worry about this."
Justin, apparently, took this statement to heart. And half a year later as our own wedding started drawing near, he started making references to how I was going to freak out. I kind of went along with it, because I thought it was a joke more than anything else, but I really wish I'd nipped it in the bud. He started latching onto small things with the conviction that I was panicking, and by the week before our wedding, it was as if he was no longer capable of seeing me as anything other than a bridezilla.
The event that cinched this in his mind happened the Monday before the wedding. We'd arrived in New Orleans that Saturday, and I still had 58 tasks left to do (most wound up done, some ended up skipped). Making programs for the wedding was one of these tasks, and as I'd already bought materials, I didn't think it'd be a very big deal to take care of them. I designed them on Sunday, but when I tried to print them out on Justin's parent's home printer, I found out that the printer couldn't print on 5x7 paper. Monday morning, I found out that Office Depot, FedEx, and the UPS store also didn't print on 5x7 paper. I told Justin this when I met him for lunch that day, and he recommended I come by his office to see if they could help; after all, he works for a media company, so they should be able to handle strangely sized paper.
One of his co-workers was pretty sure she could figure it out, but she was having trouble getting my files to print to the appropriate size. When she told us it might take her a while to get it worked out, Justin told her "take all the time you need, it's not like we need them before Saturday." After he said that, I said "well..." And then I stopped myself. Because as soon as I started saying it, I realized that "well, if we don't get the print-outs until Saturday, we really won't have time to assemble the programs" would not come across as helpful, or like I was pointing out something obvious; it would come across as demanding that she do this very generous favor for us immediately. There was barely even a pause before she looked at Justin and said "well, I'll want to make sure you get them in time to put the programs together," and she seemed totally unoffended by my slip; but this was enough for Justin to go off on me later about how inconsiderate and selfish I was being.
I've heard "real" bridezilla stories. About girls who insist their bridesmaids lose weight, and demand their hair be a certain length; brides who scream at guests who bring uninvited dates, and chew out florists for ordering the wrong orchids. I never thought it was a fair comparison, but it was the label I wound up with nonetheless, and it was crippling. It meant that everything I did that week, Justin reinterpreted as irrational. It was irrational that I took the time to make goodie bags for the children at the wedding, it was irrational that I got the unsymmetrical bustline of my dress re-altered, it was irrational that I wanted to get my scars professionally covered before the wedding. Even on that Thursday night at 2 am (when all week I'd been running on half the amount of sleep and food I normally get, and still had 10 things to do the next day before the rehearsal dinner), when we were packing our things at his parent's house to move into the hotel, and his parents decided it was time to pull out photo albums and put on silly masks - it was "completely unacceptable" that I started interjecting with "we've really got to get going" every chance I got.
The worst part was on Friday night. I'd originally thought me and Justin should get separate rooms in the hotel, and then move into the same room after the wedding on Saturday. He convinced me that this was a bad idea, because he wanted to spend the night before the wedding with me, and wake up with me. What he didn't clarify was that he wanted to spend the night before the wedding with me, and also with eight of his male friends, playing call of duty and getting wasted all night. This is not something that sounds fun to me in general, and much less so when I'm exhausted and have to be awake for a 9 am hair appointment the next day. So instead of taking a bath, painting my nails, and chilling out in a nice quiet room with Justin and a glass of wine, I tried to go to sleep in Panah's hotel room (except I realized I'd forgotten my dental floss, and my pajama bottoms, and my earplugs, and I was too angry about the whole situation in general to sleep). Justin phoned first at 1 am because they'd managed to get locked out of the room and needed my key card, and then at 3 am because they were finally finished and he wanted me to come back upstairs. I maybe slept two hours that night. And I felt like I'd been stripped of any right to complain, because he "wanted me to be there too," so I just came across like an antisocial bitch who didn't want to have fun with his friends.
Ultimately, the whole experience was too overwhelming for me to really stay angry; and it helped that your main job as a bride is to appear very happy to everyone. I hadn't really thought about any of this until we watched the Dr. Who season finale last week, and there was a wedding scene in it. But since then, I keep finding myself seething over it. A friend in my department commented to me, before the wedding, that Justin and I already seem like an old married couple. And I feel like maybe this is true, in that we take each other for granted, and aren't considerate of each other, and prioritize our own friends and family over each other.
This sounded simple enough, and I stayed in the parking lot in the 90 degree heat while everyone else headed out to the restaurant. I raced around and stubbornly stood in spots while angry drivers blared their horns at me and yelled at me to move so they could park. Whenever I noticed a wedding attendant, I would give the spot over to them, and scout out a new one for my sister. After a while, a lot of guests had arrived, but there was no sign of my sister; and neither my she nor my new brother-in-law were answering their cell phones. And my parents weren't answering their phones, when I tried calling to see if they'd heard from them.
After about 45 minutes of this, I was dripping with sweat, my dress was covered in stains, my carefully straightened hair was frizzed, and my makeup was puddling over my cheekbones. I felt completely harried from having to combat irritated drivers, and miserable that I'd failed at helping my sister out on her wedding day; I pictured her stuck in traffic, frantic that she was missing her own wedding reception. I had a sunburn and a miserable headache, and I decided I'd go to the restaurant to at least get some water (and hopefully find someone else to take over my job). When I got there, my sister had already arrived; and when I found out she'd shown up over half an hour ago, and that no one had bothered to call and tell me, I burst into tears and headed straight for the bathroom.
I washed my face and mopped myself up the best I could, and calmed down enough to go back out and laugh it off to my family. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, and I didn't want to ruin that explaining that I felt physically wretched, and neglected and overlooked. So, I simply joked "well, I'm sure I'll have an even worse fit at my own wedding, don't worry about this."
Justin, apparently, took this statement to heart. And half a year later as our own wedding started drawing near, he started making references to how I was going to freak out. I kind of went along with it, because I thought it was a joke more than anything else, but I really wish I'd nipped it in the bud. He started latching onto small things with the conviction that I was panicking, and by the week before our wedding, it was as if he was no longer capable of seeing me as anything other than a bridezilla.
The event that cinched this in his mind happened the Monday before the wedding. We'd arrived in New Orleans that Saturday, and I still had 58 tasks left to do (most wound up done, some ended up skipped). Making programs for the wedding was one of these tasks, and as I'd already bought materials, I didn't think it'd be a very big deal to take care of them. I designed them on Sunday, but when I tried to print them out on Justin's parent's home printer, I found out that the printer couldn't print on 5x7 paper. Monday morning, I found out that Office Depot, FedEx, and the UPS store also didn't print on 5x7 paper. I told Justin this when I met him for lunch that day, and he recommended I come by his office to see if they could help; after all, he works for a media company, so they should be able to handle strangely sized paper.
One of his co-workers was pretty sure she could figure it out, but she was having trouble getting my files to print to the appropriate size. When she told us it might take her a while to get it worked out, Justin told her "take all the time you need, it's not like we need them before Saturday." After he said that, I said "well..." And then I stopped myself. Because as soon as I started saying it, I realized that "well, if we don't get the print-outs until Saturday, we really won't have time to assemble the programs" would not come across as helpful, or like I was pointing out something obvious; it would come across as demanding that she do this very generous favor for us immediately. There was barely even a pause before she looked at Justin and said "well, I'll want to make sure you get them in time to put the programs together," and she seemed totally unoffended by my slip; but this was enough for Justin to go off on me later about how inconsiderate and selfish I was being.
I've heard "real" bridezilla stories. About girls who insist their bridesmaids lose weight, and demand their hair be a certain length; brides who scream at guests who bring uninvited dates, and chew out florists for ordering the wrong orchids. I never thought it was a fair comparison, but it was the label I wound up with nonetheless, and it was crippling. It meant that everything I did that week, Justin reinterpreted as irrational. It was irrational that I took the time to make goodie bags for the children at the wedding, it was irrational that I got the unsymmetrical bustline of my dress re-altered, it was irrational that I wanted to get my scars professionally covered before the wedding. Even on that Thursday night at 2 am (when all week I'd been running on half the amount of sleep and food I normally get, and still had 10 things to do the next day before the rehearsal dinner), when we were packing our things at his parent's house to move into the hotel, and his parents decided it was time to pull out photo albums and put on silly masks - it was "completely unacceptable" that I started interjecting with "we've really got to get going" every chance I got.
The worst part was on Friday night. I'd originally thought me and Justin should get separate rooms in the hotel, and then move into the same room after the wedding on Saturday. He convinced me that this was a bad idea, because he wanted to spend the night before the wedding with me, and wake up with me. What he didn't clarify was that he wanted to spend the night before the wedding with me, and also with eight of his male friends, playing call of duty and getting wasted all night. This is not something that sounds fun to me in general, and much less so when I'm exhausted and have to be awake for a 9 am hair appointment the next day. So instead of taking a bath, painting my nails, and chilling out in a nice quiet room with Justin and a glass of wine, I tried to go to sleep in Panah's hotel room (except I realized I'd forgotten my dental floss, and my pajama bottoms, and my earplugs, and I was too angry about the whole situation in general to sleep). Justin phoned first at 1 am because they'd managed to get locked out of the room and needed my key card, and then at 3 am because they were finally finished and he wanted me to come back upstairs. I maybe slept two hours that night. And I felt like I'd been stripped of any right to complain, because he "wanted me to be there too," so I just came across like an antisocial bitch who didn't want to have fun with his friends.
Ultimately, the whole experience was too overwhelming for me to really stay angry; and it helped that your main job as a bride is to appear very happy to everyone. I hadn't really thought about any of this until we watched the Dr. Who season finale last week, and there was a wedding scene in it. But since then, I keep finding myself seething over it. A friend in my department commented to me, before the wedding, that Justin and I already seem like an old married couple. And I feel like maybe this is true, in that we take each other for granted, and aren't considerate of each other, and prioritize our own friends and family over each other.