Chicks are Stupid

My friend is getting married in September, and as I am now newly engaged, she gave me a piece of advice: Do NOT attend a bridal show. 

True to form, I ignored this.  Mostly because my mom wanted to go, and it’s been 13 years since one of her kids got married.  In no way did I think I’d enjoy it, but I didn’t know I’d detest the entire experience from depths I didn’t know I had.  Oy and vey.

For starters, they hand out stickers.  They say “Bride!”, “Groom!”, “Mom!” or “Bride’s Entourage”.  I managed to avoid getting a sticker.  And gals?  Why on God’s green Earth would you make the groom come with?  I hope when you got home he beat you about the head and neck.  And not a court in the land would convict him.  You had that coming.

It hit me that these bridal shows are kid stuff.  It was a bunch of  twenty-somethings and their girlfriends having a giggly time.  It was uber crowded, and these ditzes would just stand there in the middle of what should’ve been flowing foot traffic texting and talking on the phone.  MOVE!  And on another note regarding crowd control, can I get a big fat WTF for all the dagnab strollers?  Sweet shit, ladies!  Let junior stay at home. With the groom.   

Another challenge was that bridal shows are in direct conflict with my chronic cheapness.  I love doing crafts and hate spending money, so I’m planning to do all my own invitations, centerpieces, flowers, and favors.  So there was no need for me to look at any booth that was peddling that overpriced gunk.  Let’s be honest: I was in it for the cake samples.  And to my dismay, there weren’t that many. 

I think the only big concern I’ll have during the wedding planning process is finding a photographer.  For starters, the price range on a decent one goes from robbery to anal rape.  And what’s with the effing artsy crap?  Oh, here’s a picture of the ring on a rose petal.  Here’s a shot of the back of the wedding party in silhouette. And here’s a shot of the bride’s shoes in a tree.  WHO THE EFF WOULD BUY THOSE?  I’ve never gone into anyone’s home and seen a framed 8x10 of the bride’s foot.  When my sister got married, the photographer actually had her sit down on concrete for a picture.  I’d have kindly told him to go fuck himself.  Hard. 

But of all the people there I wanted to punch, the worst of it goes to the chick who was wearing a tank top that said “I got one!” and it showed a bride dragging a groom.  Because implying that finding a spouse is a hunt and men must be dragged toward commitment is hilarious.  Except that it isn’t.