Diary of a Mad Bride Read online

  A Delta Book

  Published by

  Dell Publishing

  a division of

  Random House, Inc.

  1540 Broadway

  New York, New York 10036

  Copyright © 2001 by Laura Wolf

  eBook design adapted from printed book design by Lynn Newmark

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Delta® is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Publisher.

  ISBN 9780385335836

  eBook ISBN 9780804181259

  v4.1

  a

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Preface

  July 10th

  July 12th

  July 15th

  July 17th

  July 18th

  July 30th

  August 1st

  August 1st—11 P.M.

  August 2nd—3 A.M.

  August 2nd—4 A.M.

  August 2nd

  August 3rd

  August 5th

  August 6th

  August 7th

  August 9th

  August 10th

  August 11th

  August 13th

  August 14th

  August 15th—12:30 A.M.

  August 15th

  August 16th

  August 17th

  August 18th

  August 19th

  August 20th

  August 21st

  August 22nd

  August 23rd

  August 24th

  August 25th

  August 26th

  August 27th

  August 28th

  August 29th

  August 30th

  August 31st

  September 1st

  September 2nd

  September 4th

  September 5th

  September 6th

  September 8th

  September 9th—2 A.M.

  September 10th

  September 13th

  September 14th

  September 15th

  September 19th

  September 20th

  September 22nd

  September 23rd

  September 24th

  September 25th

  September 26th

  September 29th

  October 1st

  October 3rd

  October 4th

  October 5th

  October 6th

  October 7th

  October 9th

  October 10th

  October 10th—4 A.M.

  October 13th

  October 14th

  October 15th

  October 17th

  October 20th

  October 23rd

  October 24th

  October 25th

  October 27th

  October 28th—12:30 A.M.

  November 1st

  November 3rd

  November 5th

  November 6th

  November 10th

  November 11th

  November 14th

  November 15th

  November 18th

  November 19th

  November 20th

  November 22nd

  November 23rd

  November 23rd—9:30 P.M.

  November 25th

  November 26th

  November 27th—1 A.M.

  November 27th

  November 28th

  November 30th

  December 1st

  December 2nd

  December 3rd

  December 4th

  December 5th

  December 6th

  December 7th

  December 8th

  December 10th

  December 11th

  December 13th

  December 15th

  December 16th

  December 17th

  December 18th

  December 23rd

  December 24th

  Christmas day

  December 27th

  December 29th

  December 30th

  New year’s eve—9 P.M.

  January 1st

  January 4th

  January 5th

  January 6th

  January 7th

  January 8th

  January 9th

  January 10th

  January 11th

  January 12th

  January 15th

  January 17th

  January 18th

  January 19th

  January 21st

  January 22nd

  January 23rd

  January 25th

  January 27th

  January 29th

  January 30th

  January 31st

  February 1st

  February 3rd

  February 4th

  February 5th—2 A.M.

  February 5th

  February 7th

  February 9th

  February 10th

  February 10th—11 P.M.

  February 11th

  February 12th

  February 13th

  February 14th

  February 18th

  February 19th

  February 20th

  February 21st

  February 22nd

  February 23rd

  February 25th

  February 28th

  March 2nd

  March 3rd

  March 4th

  March 6th

  March 7th

  March 8th

  March 9th—3 A.M.

  March 10th

  March 11th

  March 12th

  March 13th—1:37 A.M.

  March 13th

  March 14th

  March 15th

  March 16th

  March 17th

  March 18th—3 A.M.

  March 18th

  March 20th

  March 21st

  March 21st—10:30 P.M.

  March 22nd—1 A.M.

  March 22nd—2 A.M.

  March 22nd

  March 23rd—1:45 A.M.

  March 23 rd

  March 24th

  March 25th

  March 26th

  March 29th

  March 30th

  March 31st

  April 1st

  April 2nd—2 A.M.

  April 2nd

  April 3rd

  April 4th—1 A.M.

  April 4th

  April 4th—10 P.M.

  April 5th

  April 5th—11:30 P.M.

  April 6th

  April 6th—8 P.M.

  April 7th

  April 8th

  April 10th

  April 11th

  April 12th

  April 13th

  April 14th

  April 15th

  April 16th

  April 17th

  April 18th

  April 19th

  April 20th

  April 21st

  April 22nd

  April 23rd

  April 24th

  April 25th

  April 26th—2 A.M.

  April 26th

  April 27th

  April 30th

  April 30th—10 P.M.

  April 30th—10:30 P.M.

  May 2nd

  May 3rd

  May 4th

  May 5th

&n
bsp; May 6th—2 A.M.

  May 6th

  May 7th

  May 8th

  May 9th

  May 10th

  May 11th

  May 12th

  May 12th—9 P.M.

  May 13th

  May 14th

  May 15th

  May 16th

  May 17th

  May 18th

  May 19th

  May 20th

  May 21st

  May 23rd

  May 24th

  May 25th

  May 25th—11:30 PM.

  May 26th

  May 27th

  May 28th

  May 29th

  May 30th

  June 1st

  June 2nd

  June 3rd

  June 4th

  June 5th

  June 6th

  June 7th

  June 8th

  June 9th

  June 10th

  June 11th

  June 12th

  June 13th

  June 14th

  June 15th

  June 16th

  June 17th

  June 18th—1:35 A.M.

  June 18th

  June 19th

  June 20th

  June 21st

  July 5th

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  PREFACE

  june 26th

  My best friend, Mandy, is getting married, and no one is suffering more than my secretary, Kate.

  KATE

  I’m an administrative assistant. Not a security guard.

  ME

  And I appreciate everything you do for me. Didn’t I get you that gift certificate from Saks last Christmas?

  KATE

  Macy’s.1

  ME

  Whatever you say. But I can’t talk to Mandy right now. Just take a message.

  KATE

  I already did that. Six times.

  ME

  What’d she say?

  KATE

  “Urgent—Call me.”

  ME

  It’s a bluff. Tell her I’m in a meeting.

  KATE

  That’s what I said the first time she called.

  ME

  I’m in the ladies’ room.

  KATE

  Used it twice. Once more and we’ll be saying urinary tract infection.

  ME

  Hey, that’s a—

  KATE

  Forget it. I have my pride.

  ME

  All right. Put her through. But if I’m not off the phone in three minutes call my other line.

  KATE

  You know, this wasn’t in my job description.2

  Kate struts out of my office. I wish I could go with her. Instead I pick up the phone.

  ME

  Hi, Mandy. What’s going on?

  MANDY

  Just the usual bridal nightmares.

  ME

  What nightmares? You found the guy. He found you. In just three months it’ll be eternal bliss—

  MANDY

  Three months and two days.

  ME

  Like I said…Now relax and enjoy yourself.

  MANDY

  Oh, you couldn’t possibly understand, Amy. You’ve never been married.

  ME

  Then why’d you call me?

  MANDY

  What?

  ME

  Never mind. Just tell your spinster friend what’s ailing you.

  MANDY

  You’re mocking me. Don’t mock me.

  ME

  I’m not mocking you.3

  Suddenly there’s loud sniffling on the other end of the phone.

  ME

  Don’t cry, Mandy. Everything’s going to be okay.4

  MANDY

  I’m just so tired. Today the florist called to say that her original quote on Holland tulips was under by fifteen-point-seven-eight percent.

  ME

  Wow! Fifteen-point-seven-eight percent? How’d you even figure out how much that was?

  The sniffles become sobs. Did I say the wrong thing? My other phone begins to ring. Kate’s just earned a pay raise.

  ME

  Oops, there’s my other line. I’ve gotta go. Just remember this is about you and Jon getting married. That’s all that matters.

  MANDY

  But the tulips are an integral part of our floral concept.

  ME

  We’ll talk soon!

  I hang up. I know I should feel guilty, but all I feel is relief. Moments later Kate returns to my office with a scowl.

  KATE

  We both know she’s calling back in an hour.

  Kate—So young. So wise.

  ME

  You’re probably right. Now tell me why getting married turns normal people into total freaks?

  KATE

  Don’t ask me, Ms. Thomas. I’m not married.

  ME

  That’s why I like you, Kate.5

  It’s true and you know it. People who are about to be married magically transform into raging narcissists. They’re like those robot dolls we had as kids. The ones that transformed from a human to a car to a prehistoric animal. Well, put a veil and a string of pearls on one of those T-Rexes and you’ve got yourself a bride-to-be whose personal evolution is powerful enough to sweep every living man, woman, and child into its turmoil. And that’s not malicious. Just fact.

  Trust me. I know.

  Mandy’s asked me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding this September. On a certain level it’s flattering. She’s been one of my closest friends since sophomore year in college. Stunning, determined—and extremely high maintenance—she’s the only person I’ve ever known who arranged her clothes by season. It’s an odd mix of awe and incredulity that seals our friendship.

  But now the terms of that friendship dictate that I appear at her nuptial soiree in a yellow satin dress with an empire waistline. Mandy has convinced herself that the “buttercup” color and the empire waistline are a subtle yet elegant interpretation of Camelot-era gowns.6

  Yeah, right.

  First off, the fabric may be called “buttercup,” but it’s really “pucker-mouth lemon”—like cheap mustard at picnics and ballparks. Or New York City taxicabs. And only young girls with eating disorders look elegant in empire waistlines. The rest of us look pregnant and dumpy. So you can forget Camelot.

  But I’ll wear it and smile. Because Mandy loves it and I love her.

  Besides, I’m secure enough to appear in public as a livery vehicle. I’m an attractive twenty-nine-year-old brunette. I’ve even been told that I look like Julia Roberts. The Size 10 version. But shorter. With smaller boobs. So for one day I can endure the shame and humiliation of joining seven other women in pucker-mouth lemon dresses as we cruise down Mandy’s wedding aisle to the tune of three hundred bucks a pop.

  Oh, did I forget to mention that part?

  And the spewing wallet doesn’t stop there. There’s still the engagement gift, the shower gift, the wedding gift—it all adds up.7 Then there are the eight groomsmen who have to buy suits or top hats or full-body armor (I’ve been too afraid to ask). Not to mention the 250 guests she’s invited to share in this intimate event, which she’s been painstakingly planning for twelve long and laborious months…

  I sound callous. I hate that, because I’m not. In fact, I try to be as patient and understanding as possible. I try to remember, as Mandy constantly reminds me, that I’ve never been through this. I really don’t know what it feels like to endure the tumultuous storms that mysteriously accompany weddings. I try to remember that all those insane brides used to be my thoughtful, intelligent, truly enjoyable friends. Women I loved being with. The whole “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” doo-doo.

  But it’s difficult. It’s like they’ve been stricken with some Mad Bride Disease. And it’s not their fault—it’s the diet powder they’ve turned to in a desperate attempt to shed those extra ten pounds that
they’ve failed to lose for the last thirty years.

  Yet not for a second do I begrudge them their happiness—or their hysteria. I’m thrilled they’ve found soul mates, partners, whipping boys, playthings…Heck, life’s hard. A spouse is an invaluable bonus. No one prepares us for the lonely weekends watching mediocre TV, wishing we had something better to do. Sure, I’ve got a great boyfriend and terrific friends. But boyfriends come and go and friends make other plans. A spouse is always on-call. You can stay at home and do nothing, because you’re doing it together.

  But enough is enough. These days every time the phone rings it’s another person calling to say she’s getting married. They’re bursting with excitement, spewing from the mouth, as their joy overfloweth for hours and hours and hours…Wedding dates, seating charts, flowers, registries, hors d’oeuvres, and gifts. Next they’ll be calling about babies and twins and in-vitro fertilization. Hours of birthing details. Placentas, epidurals, and tearing. Do they have to talk about the tearing? Then it’ll be Little League and Cub Scouts and car pools and extramarital affairs and couples therapy and divorce court…Soon I’ll have to get a second phone just to order Chinese food!

  Breathe. I must remember to breathe.

  The thing that I really don’t understand is the whole desperation to marry. I wasn’t one of those little girls who sat around and fantasized about my wedding dress. I didn’t know how I’d wear my hair or what type of flowers I’d hold. And I certainly didn’t have visions of myself floating down the aisle as hundreds of guests quietly weep into handkerchiefs while whispering in hushed tones about my exquisite beauty. My remarkable poise. My stellar choice of veil.

  In fact, I pretty much assumed I’d never get married. I mean, why bother? I’m not religious. My family doesn’t really care. And I have a sister who made it clear from infancy that she intended to lead the most June Cleaver existence possible, thereby assuring my family of at least one joyful nuptial.

  I still remember the first week of college, when a girl in my literature class told me in all seriousness that college was our last chance to find a husband. According to her it was the last time we’d be in an environment with an abundance of men of the appropriate age, educational background, and financial strata. I was horrified. Here was an intelligent, good-looking, very young woman declaring that her main goal in college was to meet a mate.8 College was simply an episode of The Dating Game honed to its sharpest point.

  By junior year she was engaged to a guy with chronic dandruff and a history of kleptomania. She liked his sense of humor and thought his love of tennis would make him a good dad. She stopped talking to her friends and socialized exclusively with his. They were married two years later. I’m no devil-worshiping Satanist, but I just don’t get it. Wasn’t the whole point about birth control to liberate us from these shackles of dependency? Isn’t that why we had the 1970s? Wasn’t that why halter tops were invented?

  And it’s not like I’m “out of touch.” As the Associate Features Editor of Round-Up magazine, it’s my job to know what people in New York are thinking and doing. And not just the Donald Trumps and models of the moment but real people, who worry about public school violence and look forward to eating hot zeppoli at the next street fair. In fact, I’m so “in touch” that I’ve been appointed editor of next year’s “Faces in the City” issue. So I know weddings are important and meaningful events. I just don’t understand why they diminish my girlfriends’ capacity for rational thought, increase their ability to cry tenfold, and entirely vanquish their fashion IQ. I mean, for God’s sake, I look like a taxicab with dyed-to-match shoes.