Attack of the bridezilla

“You know, it’s going to a low-key affair. I’m not into big weddings.” These are the words that should strike fear into the heart of any sane person: man or woman, young or old, married or single. These are the exact words I heard late one Friday night last year, when my friend – let’s call her Bridie – rang to tell me that her lovely boyfriend (for the purposes of this story, let’s call him Patience, even though that’s a girl’s name and I am in no way commenting on his sexuality) had finally popped the question.

Bridie is in her late 30s, the clock’s definitely a-tickin’, and at that point I couldn’t have been more pleased for her. So when she asked me to be her bridesmaid – “It’ll just be you and you can wear whatever you like” – I was honoured and deeply touched.

Touched in the head, as it turns out. For I am here to tell you that no good can come of being involved in someone else’s wedding. Many of my friends have tied the knot in the past, but my sum contribution has been to RSVP, buy a gift and turn up on the day to shed the obligatory tear and partake of the buffet and sparkling wine.

Having never had much previous involvement in the wedding planning process, I’m not entirely sure if the Bridezilla is a recent phenomenon or if they’ve been around since the first woman decided it’d be a great idea to spend far too much money on a big dress and boss her friends around. Certainly, when I tell people of my experiences – oh, yes, we’re getting to them – I get knowing nods. One friend, still particularly fragile after a close buddy went monster – she was yelled at and accused of not caring because she couldn’t afford to do all 27 of the scheduled hen’s weekend activities – even gave this sage advice: “Run for your life.”

In a nutshell, here is how things went from besties to busties in six short months: two other girls (and when I say girls, I mean just that – they’re 19 and 23 to my 40) are asked to be bridesmaids; it’s decided that we should all wear dresses that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the prom in Pretty in Pink; I say “no way”; get told to find something that will “blend in”; have my suggestions rejected; and I promptly “unbridesmaid” myself.

A rapid succession of e-mails and late-night phone calls ensue, asking for my advice on such things as workmates who want to bring partners; gift registries; place settings; and country caterers who won’t return phone calls.