I'm going to be a bridesmaid again. And I don't know why, but it seems to me that the moment a girl gets engaged, she gets attacked by some sort of bacteria that eats away her sense of style and good taste.
Her God-given natural resistence to colors like lilac and sea green erodes and suddenly, bugle beads and Precious Moments figurines of limpid, large eyed child brides are more important than life itself.
My friend appears to also be suffering from a severe case of beer goggles where I am concerned. Now, I'm flattered that she seems to believe that I would look good in anything strapless and fitted, but no one else at that wedding will be suffering from her particular affliction.
I'm telling you, she's lost her mind. Even after I griped and groaned about the pink nightmare, even after she sympathized and agreed with me in regards to sleeves and crinoline, the minute it was her turn to become a blushing bride, she forgot everything I said and went for the dresses that no one, except for the models wearing them in the picture, would ever be able to pull off.
But why do it, then?
She's my friend. One of my best friends. And she chose me and one other girl to be her only bridesmaids and to be the only non-family members at her small wedding. It's important to her. And that's why I'll do it. Even if it means scaring small children, injuring the elderly who were too slow to duck with my giant, flapping arm wings, even if it means that I will have to, once again, drop 30 pounds and be pissy for months on end.
But I get to bitch about it here.
I figure if one friend gets married a year, then I will have sufficient motivation to lose weight and keep it off. What greater motivator is there than public humiliation?
