Sunday, January 31, 2010
my day as a faux bride
After hours plopped down in front of the tv watching shows like Bridezillas, Rich Bride Poor Bride, Say Yes to the Dress, and Platinum Weddings, my roommate (Mary Anne) and I decided it was high time to get involved in all of this wedding hoopla. Now don't you be mistaken, we are not trying to get hitched. We are simply taking advantage of all the wedding resources around us. Like any starved college student, all we wanted was some free food, a little roommate bonding, and a dash of improv. And so it began. We printed off directions to a wedding show thirty minutes away, I slipped a faux engagement ring on my finger, and we were ready to go.
We decided I should keep my name and story as close to the real thing as possible so that we wouldn't get our story wrong. So my fiance's name was Joe (after my darling boyfriend) and we had known each other since we were in fourth grade (also true). Mary Anne would be my Maid of Honor. She continued to say things like "it's your day, this is all about you" (something I could get used to). Despite our expectations, the showing was much more personal than we had imagined, which meant more chit chat between vendors and thus more thinking on our toes. It was a small room filled with caterers, photographers, videographers, and florists all asking the same questions: Which of you is getting married? When's the date? (we're thinking fall) What are your colors? (my what?) How many guests are you planning on having? (oh, about 200 give or take)And so on.
The chocolatier in the back has the nerve to ask me where my fiance is. Who does she think she is? I mutter something along the lines of "oh, he's just out doing whatever". I'm not entirely sure what that means, but she gets the hint. Mary Anne then backs me up by saying "boys will be boys". It worked out well that my betrothed is doing "whatever" because Ms. Chocalate-pants gives me a miniature wrapped box of chocolates for me to bring him to sample. Unfortunately, the chocolates didn't get that far. In fact, they didn't even make it past the valet stand on the way out.
Each photographer pulls us aside and first asks who is getting married (Mary Anne tells them all matter-of-factly that I am and I smile shyly, trying to look pleasant and wifely) and then launches into why they are the best photographer for my wedding. I 86 the first man due to his bad breath. No one wants a man suffering halitosis to breathe right up their nostrils in the close-ups. I like the second photographer because he tells us he and his wife work together and I think it's cute. But eventually I decide to get rid of him after he fails to laugh at one of my jokes. Who needs a photographer anyway?
Interaction with the balding, portly videographer:
Mary Anne and me at once: Hello
Videographer: Did you two rehearse that? You two must spend a lot of time together. (Chuckles to himself)
Me: We've been practicing.
Mary Anne: She is my roommate, but not for long! (M.A. nudges me with an excited Maid of Honor's touch)
Videographer to Mary Anne: Are you getting married soon?
(Mary Anne holds up her bare left hand and shakes her head)
Videographer: Got a boyfriend?
Mary Anne: No
Me: We were hoping maybe she would find one here.
Videographer to Mary Anne (whom he has taken quite a liking to): So when are you going to get married then?
At this point we begin moseying away.
Mary Anne: Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.
Me: Story of your life.
Some cake samples, truffles, and a plate of barbecue later, we decide it is time to head out. With our stomachs full, a bag of flyers and freebies, and the rock on my ring finger causing my left hand to ache (oh,who am I kidding? It's a cheap and plastic tar-jay purchase), we head home. On the ride back I read off the wedding checklist I was handed at the door and peruse the rest of our gatherings. Among them: a heart shaped cookie, 2 "Just Married" luggage tags, 1 bridal bumper sticker, a couple bridal magazines, and plenty of business cards to look over with my husband-to-be...whoever he is. Ahh, a successful day as a mock-bride.