Tuesday, June 20, 2006

My Romantic Fantasies...Biting me On the Ass

As a young girl growing up in the sticks, spending my time watching cartoon reruns of Hercules and pretending I was Helena, I had several romantic fantasies. Some of those fantasies vanished into the night air with the steady hiss of reality escaping my balloon of romantic delusions. A small number of those fantasies actually became reality.

I met and married my handsome, if not somewhat dunderheaded, Prince Charming. I had a beautiful, handcrafted, off-white wedding gown. (Let's ignore the fact that it was an empire-waisted gown, the likes of which my mother had to let the sides out the day before the wedding due to my ever-expanding belly.)

I had a beautiful wedding, with my eight-month old daughter as my flower girl. She sat in a wagon and gummed the plastic flowers to death. (She'd have given Wonderbaby a run for her money in the market of bald-headed, cute baby girls who sport stylish hats.)

I had three lovely attendants, who I was kind to, and allowed them to pick the style and colour of their dresses. (Admittedly, my maid-of-honour was nine months preggers and could chew the tops off of pop bottles by then, so cranky was she. I was a tad frightened of her.) They chose a lovely dusky blue. Not the colour I would have chose, but it looked smart on all three ladies.

But I digress. Back to my romantic dreams. One of those would be to see my daughter walk down the aisle in a sea of white gauze and be whisked off into the sunset by her own Mr. McDreamy. Only, of course, after she graduates from med school and solves the whole world peace problem. I am half way there. After all, I have a daughter, and she is fairly bright. (It could happen, dear internet.)

Another romantic fantasy of mine would be to stand up for my sister when she found her Mr. Right. Well, since that is as likely as me sprouting another big toe (not because my sis is a troll, but because she has sworn off all men and bought herself a new pet; one of those vibrating rabbits everyone keeps talking about) I have had to face reality and kiss another delusion goodbye.

That is, until one of my best girlfriends stepped in, and saved the day. She has asked me to be her bridesmaid for her very special day.

I now understand there is a special place in hell for such requests.

Besides the fact that I am now saddled with an expensive dress I will never, ever, wear again, in a colour which leaves me looking like a half-dead corpse found in an old marsh out on the edge of city limits; I have the honour of standing next to the bride and the maid-of-honour. Both of whom, are stunning. Both of whom, wear makeup like academy-award winning makeup artists. Both of whom actually have breasts and can manage to fill out their dresses without those gel-filled chicken cutlet thingies that make me itch.

Both of whom actually look good in their dresses.

I am going to look like a pre-pubescent tween playing grownup in her mommy's makeup while wearing her big sister's prom dress. I can hear my self-esteem slowly leaking away. The icing to this sad, chicken-cutletted cake, is it will all be immortalized for me to remember forever, with the wedding photos. I can't wait to see the one where I whip out my flask to drown my misery, only to have my boobs cutlets fall out of my bra, and land at my feet.

Yes, that will be me. The one with her hand down her bra the entire night. While slurring her words.

Good times dear internet. Good times.


Blogger Gette said...

You could skip the chicken cutlets and just hoist your own girls up and together with duct tape. You see how well it performed for your ass bandages. I hate the industrial underwear I have to wear to fit into anything without bulging mightily over the side or out the front, or to bulge in the appropriate places...

10:52 a.m.  
Blogger moe said...

Just cut a whole in the back to show off your new body art.

You should have seen the lovely number I wore to my sisters wedding. Worse than that she's divorced so one day I may have to do it all over again.

I won't mind being the mother of the bride though. Like you say, after medical school and world peace and all...

11:44 a.m.  
Blogger stefanierj said...

Stop getting inside my head!! I will be my sister's Matron D'Honor in August (for the SECOND damn time--hope this one sticks, since we like him soo much better than husband #1) and oy to the freaking vey, not lookin' forward to launching myself down the aisle in a fashion not unlike a large seafaring vessel.

But I keep telling myself that if people are lookin' at me at my SISTER'S wedding, well then, Houston, we have a problem.

Sorry about your Oilers (or Aw-lers, as most of my NC friends would say). They fought a good fight and brought serious amounts of kick-ass to the series.

1:33 p.m.  
Blogger Binky said...

Ah, my A cup, flask-wielding sister. The previous comment about duct tape is an interesting one. I might have to try that.

1:35 p.m.  
Blogger jellyhead said...

Ah, yes, I feel your pain.

Last year, I was matron-of-honour to my sister (who is 9 1/2 yrs YOUNGER than me), and had to stand next to her two, equally young, voluptuous bridesmaids. In a strapless gown. Looking old and flat-chested (and that was with me wearing the MOST padded, padded bra I have ever owned). Not my finest hour.

3:07 p.m.  
Blogger My float said...

I once joked to my darling godsister (seven years younger than me and cut in the mould of 'could have been a supermodel only she chose to use her brains and become a marketing executive') that I had to get pregnant to avoid being her bridesmaid. I wasn't actually joking. I would have done ANYTHING, ladies and gents, to avoid standing next to this vision of beauty and light. Redneck Mommy, is it too late to consider moving to another country before the wedding?!

3:19 p.m.  
Blogger Her Bad Mother said...

I'll keep it mum from WonderBaby that she may not be the only amazing hatted creature that the world has ever known.

Speaking of which - ever put a hat on Nixon...?

9:05 p.m.  
Anonymous jess said...

I feel your pain. Is it pastel? The dress... I hate wearing pastels.

11:31 p.m.  
Blogger OldOldLady Of The Hills said...

LOL, LOL, LOL...I love your sense of humor, my dear...I do not believe you will look as you describe...I expect to see pictures of this whole happening...When does this happen?
I never heard of the Chicken Cutlets...I have heard them called other things...but never Chicie Cutlets!

12:47 a.m.  
Blogger Fidget said...

i'm currently on the recieving end of a bride-zilla attack... thus far I have manipulated her to return 2 different bridemaid style dresses that she spontaneously chose for us (ugly ugly ugly)... the maid of honor has been kissing my feet

i choked and almost died on the nail ive been biting when I read about your chicken cutlets hitting the floor

12:10 p.m.  
Anonymous mamatulip said...

I've only been in two weddings in my adult life and thankfully, both dresses were decent...but I'd still never wear them again.

12:46 p.m.  
Blogger Softball Slut said...

I am always a bridesmaid never a bride. Been in like 5 weddings, and 2 of the sisters were like 3 of them. Yeah we are some trailer park living fools. I have had my tat on my backside since I was 16. I love it. I cant wait to get another one. They are very very addicting. My boss even oked it as long as it doesnt show during the work week. I want it on the back of my neck. My good friend, before she bought her boobs, also wore the cutlets and one fell out in my truck and I kept sticking it to the windows as passerbys. We were dying from laughing.

*UPDATE* why does blogger get mad at you for typing in the letters wrong when they wrote them badly and I cant distuingish them? NOT MY FAULT


12:38 p.m.  
Blogger blackbird said...

My relief at NOT being asked to be a bridesmaid in my 33 year old cousin's wedding was palable (even though they did wear dark brown J Crew dresses).
They were tall, and young and photogenic.

(this is an aside)
Several people have been by my blog and mentioned you...
this time our connection is chicken cutlets.
I lost mine.

5:25 a.m.  

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