Confessions of an Ungrateful Bridesmaid

I have a dear friend who is getting married next weekend. I'll be honest, I've always liked this girl - she's a keeper in my book. But I'll tell you what I just love about her -- she had the kindness of heart to NOT make me a bridesmaid. (Just for that, I owe her a million and one thanks)

But better than one of your friends getting married - is one of your friends getting married to the right guy. (My friend has most definitely found the right guy). But what if your friend meets and marries, the wrong guy? What do you do when your friend's fiancee is a creep? The answer is, quite simply – NOTHING.

Whatever magical spell love weaves upon the unsuspecting, I'd like to bottle it up and sell it in over-priced boutiques all over the country as the first legal, mind-altering drug. I'd be a gagillionaire (that’s a lot of zeroes) and wouldn’t have to pour my blood, sweat and estrogen into corporate strategies!

Love is a goofy thing – especially when it’s lavished upon butt-scratching, nose-picking, sports-obsessing, couch-potatoing, birthday-forgetting men. I've been lured into love’s wicked web my ownself. And yes, on the outside he may look like a perfectly respectable lawyer, electrician, writer, builder, teacher, baker or candlestick maker, but inside – a butt-scratching, nose-picking … you get the idea.

Don’t get me wrong, men have many wonderful qualities too – opening a brand new ketchup bottle or say, diagnosing what’s wrong with your car by the particular ticking, clicking or knocking noise it’s making. When it all comes down to it, you’ve got your good ones and your bad ones. And since Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and that bitch, Cinderella managed to wrangle up three of testosterone’s very best, we’re all left to claw one another’s eyes out over the remaining few.

I realize I've drifted from the point. What I'm getting at is this – there’s a pretty decent chance that your bosom buddies may very well find themselves marrying Prince Charming’s very toad-like younger brother. And since you lack the skills or upper body strength to a.) magically change him into a prince, or at least some semblance of a human being OR b.) knock some much-needed sense into him – you must quietly sit in silence.

All you can really do is a.) be there for her if it falls to pieces and b.) agree with her any time she calls him a self-obsessed shithead.

But, might I suggest forming a mob-like posse with your girlfriends or fellow bridesmaids, cornering said toad prior to the wedding and threatening to strangle him with yards of baby blue taffeta if he does anything less than provide your friend with her very own – happily ever after. I'm pretty sure that’s what Cinderella’s fairy godmother did.