Next month, my oldest daughter marries the man of her dreams. He proposed to her last December. Since then, some very interesting bits of conversation have surfaced while we’ve traveled (survived) the path of planning for the big day. By the way, this child of mine is by nature the very detail oriented, almost obsessive compulsive organizer of all things. Yes. Wedding planning has propelled her strategizing to frightening new heights.
Conversation between just engaged future son-in-law (FSIL) and his mother:
FSIL: *bragging voice* “I don’t have to worry about her turning into some sort of bridezilla, Mom. You know how level-headed she is. Everything will be fine.”
FSIL’s Mom: *knowing smile toward her poor deluded son* “Whatever you say, dear. I just don’t think you realize how important this day is in a girl’s life. It’s a day they all dream about.”
Three days later FSIL calls his mom, whispering into the phone while hiding in a safe place.
FSIL: *panicked whisper* “Mom. We have wedding books. Lots of them.”
FSIL’s Mom: *stifled giggle* “Really?”
FSIL: “And binders. And magazines. And a folder with dates. And an appointment with a wedding planner.”
FSIL’s Mom: “That’s nice, honey.” *knowing chortle*
Conversation between daughter (Bride-to-Be or B2B) and her younger sister (Matron of Honor or MoH) and me (Me) during the FIRST wedding party dress fittings. (Yes. There is never just one fitting.):
B2B: *determined, chiding tone* “If you don’t suck it in, I’ll never get it zipped.”
MoH: *teeth clenched about to kill her sister tone* “It’s my freakin’ rib case. If I suck in more air, it’ll just get bigger!”
B2B: *exasperated huff* “Then blow it out and don’t breathe any more ‘til I tell you.”
MoH: No reply. Just looks at me in the mirror with a “you better do something or I’m going to be an only child” glare.
Me: “Maybe we need to try a different style?”
They didn’t kill each other and here’s an iPhone shot of the lovely Matron of Honor.
Granddaughter is going to be a junior bride’s maid. As long as she got to twirl in front of all the “magic mirrors” as she called them, she was happy.
Conversation between daughter (B2B) and hubby (Father-of-the-bride or FOB):
B2B: *threatening I-have-been-pushed too far tone* “You are NOT wearing your kilt to my wedding!”
FOB: *amused that he’s miffed his daughter tone* “Why not?”
B2B: “It clashes with my colors.”
Me: I don’t say a word, just give Hubby the “look” signaling I have heard enough of him pestering B2B.
FOB: *resigned tone* “Fine. I’ll wear the damn tux.” *brighter tone* “But I’m wearing my kilt to the rehearsal dinner and the reception!”
B2B: *knows she doomed so dismisses him with a wave* “Fine.”
Conversation between B2B and myself.
B2B: *strained patient tone she always uses when she’s ready to launch into a lecture* “Mom. Have you found your dress yet?”
Me: *Living with hubby for thirty-three has ruined me. I can’t resist teasing her just a bit.* “I’ve decided I’m wearing nothing but my pearls.”
B2B: No reply just a stony stare.
Here’s the dress SHE picked out for me since I’m only an expert on jeans.
Conversation between B2B, MoH and myself in the shoe store.
B2B to me: “Here. These shoes will look great.”
Me: “I don’t want any heels. I’ll break my neck.”
B2B: “You can’t wear flats with that dress. Try these on.”
Me: “They hurt my feet.”
B2B: “Can you walk in them?”
Me: *sullen tone* “Yes.”
B2B: “Just wear them to the wedding and for a little while at the reception.”
MoH: “I like them.”
Me to MoH: “The wicked things are yours after September 22nd.”
Here’s the wicked shoes AND the comfortable pair I’ll be changing into once I’m given permission.
Most recent conversation (text messages) between myself and bridezilla…er…B2B:
Me: “How many days?”
Me: “Holy crap!”
B2B: “I know! I’m about to hit ultimate freakout.”
Me: “Yes. We know.”
**Disclaimer: Bride-to-be is normally a very patient, loving soul. We all look forward to a return to her usual fun-loving personality once “demon planning bridezilla” is successfully exorcised on September 22nd.