Diary of a Mad Bride (30 page)

I
t was an act of desperation, but I have less than FOUR WEEKS. Can you really blame me for going to Manfield Blossom—one of the most expensive shoe stores in the entire world?

Let ye not be the first to cast a stone lest ye be in possession of a fabulous pair of wedding shoes!

The store, located just off Fifth Avenue's rarefied shopping district, looks like a fancy gift box. It's tiny and immaculate and filled with wildly expensive merchandise. Shoes for thousands of dollars. Handbags for the annual cost of an entire family of migrant laborers. You know you can't afford to shop there just by looking at it. So I dressed up for the occasion. Not to celebrate my folly but to avoid detection. The last thing I wanted was to set off some snotty salesperson's riffraff meter. Just let me shop in peace and
quietly check out the price tags, without any hassle or humiliation.

And there they were. My wedding shoes. A pair of lovely cream-colored Mary Janes with a Holly Golightly twist—rich satin, a sturdy heel, and an understated square buckle.

One problem. They were
$400.

Quick! If I cancel the bridesmaids' bouquets and the band plays for three hours instead of four can I afford it? Yes! Minutes later a saleswoman dressed in skintight designer clothing was slipping the shoe of my dreams onto my foot—

Or was she?

My toes were in but the top of my foot wasn't. The saleswoman was pushing the heel. I was pulling the strap. But the shoe refused to surrender. It wanted nothing to do with my foot. Then, adding insult to insult, the saleswoman looked up and said, “Your feet are too fleshy for our shoes.”

Too fleshy?! What? Like they should go on a diet? Be shipped to fat camp for the summer? Walk off a couple pounds? Is it my fault Manfield Blossom's shoes are designed for anorexics with bony feet who can afford to pay exorbitant prices because they don't spend money on food?

So much for avoiding detection.

I
t's official. I'm having an afternoon reception with a chicken buffet, New York state wine, and tap water. When I reminded my mother that some people don't eat chicken she just scoffed. “It's a wedding reception, not an airplane ride. We don't need a
selection.
” She's right. Screw
'em. No lobster risotto, French wines, or lamb. Value and size. Thanks, Mom. It'll go great with my dress.

At least my bridesmaids will look good.

H
ouston, we have a problem! Chapter Nineteen of
BB
clearly states that 25 percent of invitees will decline. We already have eighty-five acceptances and only two declines, with thirty-three still outstanding! What's wrong with these people? Don't they have anything else to do with their lives? Don't they know we've only budgeted for ninety?!

To make matters worse, Stephen's brother, Tom, is suddenly refusing to wear a tuxedo. He needs to be “special.” Oh, he's special all right. How about a straitjacket and a muzzle?

Meanwhile we've got to go to Bianca's wedding next weekend. I would have completely forgotten about it if Mandy hadn't asked if we wanted to split a gift with her and Jon. She says that etiquette declares it unnecessary to send gifts for a fifth wedding, but she felt badly sending nothing. Since I can barely afford to keep my utilities on, I think I'll just wait for wedding Number Six.

B
arry has managed to convince Mr. Spaulding to reschedule the “Faces in the City” advertisers meeting from June 18th to Friday, June 21st. Something about “better timing.” For everyone but me.

Creep.

Barry knows that my rehearsal dinner is upstate that Friday night. He knows that I was intending to take the day off, to spend it with my parents, preparing for one of the biggest days of my life. But the advertisers meeting is crucial to the “Faces” issue. To
my
“Faces” issue. It would be totally irresponsible of me not to be there. And there's no way in hell I'm letting Barry take my place.

Weasel.

So there's only one thing to do. When Stephen goes upstate on Friday morning to help his parents with the rehearsal dinner, I'll have him bring all my wedding things. This way I can take the train straight from the advertisers meeting to the dinner.

Work, dinner, wedding, clothes…I can do it. I can do it.

W
ith Louise's help, Stephen has successfully delivered his computer program. Yippee!!!
⁴⁶

The whole office finished the day with a case of champagne and a sigh of relief. They have a new product to release in September, the business will stay afloat, and Stephen still has a job. He's so happy!

And totally relaxed. He actually asked if there was anything he could do to help with the wedding.

There are barely three weeks left—Is he kidding me?!

C
apitalizing on Stephen's free time, we went to City Hall to get our marriage license. Luckily in New York State you don't need a blood test. Just a ballpoint pen, valid identification, and some cash will send you on your way to legal matrimony.

Welcome to the practical side of marriage.

Although the marriage office was dingy and cramped, anticipation filled the air. Stephen and I were among fifty couples all waiting to profess their undying love for each other—to the government. That's right. Tell the Census Bureau, the tax man, and my congresswoman that we're in love, dammit!

You could almost hear the office clerks thinking, “Fools. You'll be back. And next time, bring correct change.” But even the bureaucratic indifference to affairs of the heart couldn't dampen our spirits. Every couple was holding hands and grinning.

And when the clerk asked what my name would be after marriage, I proudly became Amy Thomas-Stewart. Legally able to call myself Amy Thomas or Amy Stewart, I was still, most important, me.

T
he floodgates have opened and the presents are pouring in. According to Chapter Forty-two of
BB
, guests have a year after the wedding to send a gift, but already my apartment's teeming with cardboard boxes and Styrofoam pellets. It's almost enough to make me forget how much this event's costing us.

Almost.

*  *  *

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kendilinski,

We greatly apreciate the blender you sent us for our wedding. It will undoubtedly aid in our culinary adventures.

Sincerely,

Amy and Stephen

*  *  *

Dear Cousin Jane,

We greatly apreciate the iron you sent us for our wedding. As neither Stephen nor I possess any skill in this area, we are hopeful that your gift will assist us. I was, however, sorry to learn that you will be unable to attend our wedding. Perhaps we can get together sometime after our honeymoon.

Warmest regards,

Amy and Stephen

*  *  *

Dear Mr. Munson,

We greatly apreciate the Aboriginal death mask you sent us for our wedding. My future father-in-law informs me that you spend much of your free time in Papua, New Guinea, so we delight in knowing the authenticity of such a unique gift. Certainly I have never seen anything like it. It will be a lovely addition to our new home.

Sincerely,

Amy and Stephen

O
ur cake tasting is tomorrow at Piece-A Cake but Mr. Spaulding has scheduled a 5:30
P.M.
staff meeting and Stephen's got a court appearance for his pothole debacle.

Surprise, surprise. It looks like my mother will have to decide.

M
y mother has informed me that our wedding cake is going to be mocha with a hazelnut filling covered in yellow frosting and white sugar flowers. Hazelnuts and mocha.

I hope our guests enjoy eating our wedding cake, since we can't without me swelling like a blowfish and Stephen passing out from excruciating cranial pain.

W
hile I'm thrilled to be on a first-name basis with my UPS delivery person, receiving these wedding gifts is beginning to raise all sorts of unexpected feelings in me. Guilt, annoyance, resentment, shame…

After all, a lot of people made big sacrifices to send us such nice things. Not everyone's rolling in it like Mandy and Jon. And I don't want our marriage to nickel and dime those I love. Lucy actually sent us the serving platter from our dish set. That cost fifty dollars, and she's on a fixed income!

Then there are our parents' friends, people we've never
met. Complete strangers at our wedding for forty bucks a head. So is it any surprise that I get annoyed when they send cheap gifts like a set of dish towels? Of course not. But after getting annoyed I begin to feel ashamed. Ashamed for judging the worthiness of complete strangers solely on the monetary value of their gifts. That's
really
gross.

But not as bad as the fools who send us gifts that weren't on our registry. How smug are people who decide they know what you want better than you do? Especially if they've never met you. It's one thing if someone happens to know your taste. But the complete stranger who sends you a hand-carved clock shaped like a cow that moos on the hour? These things aren't cheap. Nor are they returnable. I hate that.

Then you're faced with the decision of whether to keep a gift you hate just in case the person who gave it to you happens to come to your house. Who's got that kind of storage space? Forget it. Stephen and I have already decided that if we don't like it, we're exchanging it for something we need. And if we can't exchange it we're giving it to charity. Let the less fortunate listen to that damn mooing cow.

But of course I'll be sending everyone a thank-you note regardless of what they give us. And I do mean “I,” because Stephen's chicken scrawl is so illegible people often mistake it for Arabic. It's long and laborious, this process of writing thank-you notes. I've already written thirty-eight, which means I've had to devise thirty-eight different ways to say thank you and still sound sincere. But that's all right, because I really am thankful.

*  *  *

Dear Jerry and Mimi,

We greatly apreciate the bowl you sent us for our wedding. Seldom have I seen so many brilliant colors on a single object. What an original selection. It will be beautiful on our coffee table.

Warmest regards,

Amy and Stephen

*  *  *

Dear Nancy,

We greatly apreciate the mosaic bowl you sent us for our wedding. It reminds me so much of the Roman antiquities I adore. What an original selection. It will be beautiful on our coffee table.

Warmest regards,

Amy and Stephen

*  *  *

Dear Katrina,

How thoughtful you were to send us a wedding present. We greatly apreciate the copper bowl. While both modern and colonial, it will make a lovely centerpiece for our coffee table. What an original selection.

Sincerely,

Amy and Stephen

I
'm going to kill Bianca Sheppard! It took me two months to find “Sweet Sugar Kisses”—a song that's regal, moving, and romantic without being hackneyed like “Here Comes the Bride.” And Bianca stole it! I'm certain I mentioned it to her when we spoke about wedding cakes in April. I mean,
please.
What are the chances of someone you know using an obscure B-side jazz instrumental as their processional music? Now all those people who come to my wedding who also went to Bianca's will think Stephen and I stole it from her. It was ours, dammit! It was ours!!!

S
ure I've got seven decorative bowls, five saucers, two teacups, an iron, a blender, and an Aboriginal death mask, but I still don't have wedding shoes!

I
picked up my dress from Katrina today. She said she felt badly about taking my money since the dress is still just “okay.” Nice. Real nice. That's my WEDDING DRESS you're talking about, lady!

But considering the speed with which she pocketed my check, she couldn't have felt that bad. At least it fits well. And while it may not be perfect, it certainly is unique. That's got to count for something, right?

Nicole stopped by my apartment while I was trying it on. She was on her way to some dance club with Pablo and wanted to borrow the bustier that she so mercilessly
mocked four years ago. It seems that Pablo's turned June Cleaver into a city-loving club rat. It beats Mr. Coffee.

She took one look at my dress and shook her head. “You're actually going to wear that?”

“Yes, I'm going to wear it. It was Mom's.”

Nicole lit a cigarette as she riffled through my closet. “I know. She begged me to wear it when I got married, but I refused. I can't believe you said yes.”

Excuse me—WHAT?!

My mother offered this dress to Nicole
first
? What about sentimental gestures? And our big, emotional moment?!

I am the world's biggest sucker, with the world's ugliest wedding dress.

*  *  *

Dear Suzy,

We greatly apreciate the framed reproduction of Poussin's
Rape of the Sabine Women
that you gave us for our wedding. I am always amazed by how vividly the Baroque painters were able to capture the pain and misery of the human condition. Thank you so much for thinking of us.

Warmest regards,

Amy and Stephen

*  *  *

Dear Mr. Lindstrom,

We greatly apreciate the set of salad and dessert plates you gave us for our wedding. They will undoubtedly enhance our dining experience for years to come.

We look forward to meeting you at the reception, as my mother-in-law speaks very highly of you.

Warmest regards,

Amy and Stephen

*  *  *

Dear Anita,

Stephen greatly apreciates the year's supply of edible underwear that you gave us for our wedding. He's always been a fan of dessert.

Love,

Amy