GIRL ON FARMER By Celia Beresford Weddings make people crazy. I’m not saying this to be Debbie Downer or anything. Being at a wedding can be fun—it can also suck— but my general outlook is that places where food and drink are given freely are OK with me. What I’m talking about is that the people having the wedding are crazy. Honestly, I haven’t taken a poll on this, but the bride mostly is the person who is insane. I am pretty sure most men don’t care so much because, in an attempt to mirror what will happen once they are married, the future wife is already doing everything. In the case when there are two men, I can only guess that one will have to take on the role as a crazy bride. Lesbian weddings, I’m not so sure if one bride gets crazier than the other or if it’s a double crazy wedding train. I think the word “fiancé” is funny. It becomes especially funny when people have been dating for years, maybe living together, and once they become engaged, they now have a new title. It also seems silly to throw in one French word randomly into the middle of a sentence. Then there are the people who really exaggerate the “anceee” part of it. They really French it up. These are also the type that manage to sprinkle fiancé into conversations at every few words, even when you know the fiancé’s name. “I called my fi ancé and asked if he could meet for lunch, but my fi ancé has a meeting so he can’t come.” “Oh, so Bob can’t meet us?” “Right, my fiancé can’t meet us.” We get it. He’s your fi ancé. I have only been in one wedding. Well, no, I have been in two but one doesn’t really count. It was my cousin’s wedding and she must not have had any friends because the first and last time we spoke was when she asked me to be her bridesmaid. So, her weird wedding aside, I was in my friend Melissa’s crazy ass wedding. Melissa had dreads and lived in the desert on a school bus. Years later, you should have still been able to smell the patchouli from this girl’s wedding. Not the case. She got engaged, developed an affinity for glue guns, jelly jars and plastic autumn-colored leaves and dedicated herself to centerpieces. Then she wanted me to buy an awful, shiny dress to walk down the aisle next to her in. When she initially asked me to be a bridesmaid (isn’t that archaic term illegal yet?), I 38 JAVA MAGAZINE
There seems to be a contradiction in having a wedding at a place where you will be pooping in a hole and then requesting that people not wear jeans. said sorry, but no. I didn’t have money for the dress. She graciously offered to buy it, along with a teary explanation that the day just wouldn’t be the same without me. I humbly accepted her offer. Months later, she “caught” me buying an iced coffee. She gave me a look typically reserved for toddlers caught sneaking candy, and informed me that maybe I would have money for a dress if I wasn’t so frivolous. I assumed she was high from glue gun fumes, but you never know. She had the same uppity attitude right up until the wedding. I was also invited to a campground wedding. And that sounds like a lot of fun, right? But clearly the bride had her own vision of a camp wedding. Oddly, the invite said that “jeans are great for home, but we’re going upscale.” There seems to be a contradiction in having a wedding at a place where you will be pooping in a hole and then requesting that people not wear jeans. There was also a suggested color palette. Making your friends and family match the tablecloths and napkins seems like a pretty extreme request in any situation, but especially one where doing the Electric Slide requires a dust mask. Old people like to get wedding crazy too, although a different breed of crazy than the bride. I was recently at a wedding where the bride requested that Grandma have a minder. I don’t know how the one college-aged grandkid, who I’ll call Sideboob, got the job, but she was in charge of Grandma from start to finish. Now, poor Sideboob had her hands full because she was inexperienced enough with cocktail wear to not understand the problems that will arise when you don’t quite fill out the top of your dress. She knows now what seems to be a minor “eh, who cares, it’ll be fine” in the dressing room, will result in an evening of vigilantly protecting your entire breast from flopping out in front of your family and friends. Sideboob was often pre-occupied with a tuck-in maneuver, so she would miss Grandma sneaking away to get a cocktail. This was a sassy Grandma. Soon enough, she was a saucy Grandma as well. Someone should have come in to relieve SB of her duties, but back-up never arrived and she was left tucking and chasing until the DJ sent us all home. I like to think when I am old I will drink and wear and eat whatever I want, whenever I want. If I have a walker, it will have tennis balls on the bottom and I won’t give a shit about knocking people over with it. Even at a wedding. This is probably why someday if my future grandkid is a crazy bride, she will also ask that I have a minder. “Grandma is nuts. Someone keep an eye on her,” she’ll say as she is decorating my walker in streamers. Specially ordered streamers, of course. Dyed to match the tablecloths and freshly glue-gunned centerpieces.