I can't even begin to explain how happy I am that my brother's wedding is over. He is a happy newlywed, most likely oblivious to the trauma that I endured being the perfect maid-of-honor for his fabulous winery wedding. But the scars will continue to haunt me for the rest of my days. Ok, yes, I am being quite overdramatic. But I promise, it was nothing short of a disaster. At least for me. But who cares about that right? The bride was happy, and I did my duties well. But for the sake of good old fashioned drama, I will explain the reasons behind my woes.
It all started last Monday when the happy couple arrived at our house. Thrilled with the freshly mowed, weed whacked, and chain-sawed yard (see my previous sharepost), they set to work on wedding errands. This involved wine tasting, food tasting, and annoying my mom. Billy and I were completely exhausted from our Memorial Day yard work extravaganza, but we committed to helping them do whatever was needed. On Wednesday, my stepdad got sick so we were running around between the hospital and all the chores trying to deal with that and the upcoming rehearsal dinner. On Thursday, I surprised my soon-to-be sister with a white limo, champagne and a dinner out. In a post-bachelorette haze on Friday, we ran errands until it was time for rehearsal. After all of the guests finally cleared out of my house, my brother and his groomsmen headed down to the pub for his bachelor party. The bride and I settled in for girly movies and pedicure. In the middle of "Love Actually", I screamed out loud. I just realized I hadn't tried on the dress that I was meant to wear in the wedding. This dress was big in March so I had it taken in, but I had a terrible feeling it would be small after several months of stress eating and slacking off at the gym. With gentle encouragement from my sweet sister-to-be, I stepped into the dress and she zipped me up. Oh it zipped up alright, but have you ever seen armpit muffin top? Ughhhhh!!! Well there it was, rearing its ugly head.
Plan B was put into action quickly. I washed the plain black dress I wore to the bachelorette party and forgot about it until Saturday morning. When I took it out of the dryer, it was literally ball of rags...wrinkled all to hell and torn in several places. But the bride had to be at hair appointment by one and we still had desserts to make and makeup to buy. I finally dropped her off at the salon, sweetly told her I would be right back, then high-tailed it over to the nearest drycleaner where I begged them-quite pathetically- to pretty please steam it and fix the tears. Miracle of miracles, they agreed. In the meantime, my manicure had completely been destroyed in the hustle of my duties. Nearly in heart failure, I rushed back to the salon with the gum requested by Miss Thang, told her she was lookin' gorgeous, and then ran to the nail place next door where I did some more pathetic begging to please remove the war zone from my fingers and quickly replace it with the closest color available. I zoomed out of there with my nails still wet and a big goofy grin. I picked up the bride, stuffed a sandwich into her face, then drove her out to the winery where I made sure that she was in her dress on time and that all of the desserts were safely handed over to the caterer.
In the hustle of all of this, I didn't realize that the bra I had worn was bright orange, and was sticking out of my mended black dress in sooooooo many spots. The other girls prodded and pinned me and we were off. For the rest of the night, several guests came up to me and whispered in my ear as they tucked an orange strap out of sight. At this point, I didn't even care. I drank wine and did the Cupid Shuffle in my flip flops, toasted the couple, and sent them on their way to their honeymoon night inn.
Everyone congratulated me on doing such a great job as maid-of-honor, marveling at how beautiful the wedding was and how well I took care of the bride. As I collapsed into bed that night, I felt every bit of strength and resolve fall away from my body. Now it had to be me time. I'm absolutely thrilled that the bride is happy, but after that fiasco, I'm totally ready to take some time for myself. Luckily, I got an offer I couldn't refuse to babysit my favorite four-year-old twins down in Corolla this coming weekend. The mom was worried that it wouldn't be much of a vacation for me, but I almost told her she didn't even need to pay me. Almost. A weekend at the beach should be just what the doctor ordered. When I come home, it will be time to once again focus on my health, my happiness, and finally taking some weight off. I'm almost excited. Almost.
Published On: June 09, 2011