The bride in the straitjacket

With spring on the horizon, wedding season will soon be in full swing. And as their special day approaches, brides-to-be are emitting such a vast amount of anxiety that astronomers are warning of the creation a wedding-stress-induced black hole that will bring the end to Earth as we know it.

I made up that last part, but the stress I’ve witnessed from a good friend, who also happens to be getting married in a month, is to the point she has begun to emit gamma rays.

My friend has been reduced to what is essentially a human-sized glob of stress, anger and tears. She has not uttered a single phrase that didn’t include the word wedding since becoming engaged nearly a year ago. And every time the “W” word is uttered, it causes a Pavlovian reaction resulting into her exploding into a super nova of anxiety.

This is because many brides-to-be insist that everything, down to whether the toilet paper in the bathroom should be quilted or two-ply, must be absolutely perfect. Try to tell these brides that the reason for the event is about two people making a lifelong commitment — and the color of the napkins is not really of consequence – and you will soon be physically assaulted with a centerpiece.

Having planned my own wedding, and by that I mean being the man who did nothing in the actual preparation process but did show up in clothes that didn’t have too many mustard stains on them, I can say that 99 percent of the things future brides fret over is of no consequence.

My wife spent approximately 186 days scowling and fretting over what song should be played while we cut the cake. When the big day finally came and the spatula was primed and ready, my wife waited for the culmination of her work listening to what had to be the entire discography of every band ever created. It was at that time we realized we couldn’t hear the song she chose, and she didn’t really care.

She also sent me approximately twelve-thousand photos of various centerpieces, trying to narrow it down to something more manageable to stress out over. About 4,000 is what she landed on. While writing this column, I asked her if she remembered what our centerpieces were.

“Three candles on a mirror with shiny things,” she replied.

So she did remember, but it was a shockingly succinct answer given that she spent more time debating centerpieces than I had given to my own career path.

Truthfully though, my wife was no bridezilla. Yes, she spent hours upon hours fretting over things that, in the end, did not matter, but overall she was calm and collected.

And she has tried to pass along that serenity to our mutual friend who will tie the knot in a few weeks, stating that these small aspects of a wedding are not what will be remembered. And credit to our friend, it only took about six tranquilizer darts to get the point across.

I do wish my friend the absolute best on her wedding day and hope she will remember it for the special occasion it is and not whether the flowers were salmon or coral in color. If not, I’ll be glad to direct her to the open bar until she won’t remember anything.

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