Of the many things that astonish me about modern ‘love’, the one that gets me the most is the ability of a diamond engagement ring to turn a nice, everyday woman into the-bitch-bride-from-hell.
I’ve been a bridesmaid on numerous occasions, and, without exception, as I clutched a damp tissue and waved goodbye to the bride and her brand new groom as they departed for their exotic honeymoon, I have thought exactly the same thing: “I’m so glad you’re leaving the country for a few weeks, YOU HEINOUS BITCH !”.
Why, oh why, as soon as they get a ‘rock’ on their finger, do ordinary, intelligent women morph into crazed Barbie dolls with yearnings for an endless round of ceremonies, rehearsals, fittings, expos, dinners, temper tantrums and arguments with every member of their own and their fiancées’ families ?.
Regardless of how much I have adored the woman who has tearfully asked me to stand up beside her on the biggest day of her life, by the time said big day arrives, I am invariably a few glasses of champagne away from telling her she’s an egomaniacal bitch and her dress makes her look like she should be impaled on top of a Christmas tree.
Even my own sister held me captive in a posh hotel for an entire weekend when she got married. I escaped the attentions of the (rather scary) ‘beautician’ temporarily, only to be located hiding in the hotel cafe with a cup of tea and a scone, and returned to my sister by said beautician.
“I found her in the coffee shop with a scone” she told my sister, as if I were a 3 year old running amok unattended and not a 26 year old woman who was appalled to be told that her ‘unruly brows were spoiling her face’.
I announced: “You are not plucking my eyebrows. I don’t care what my face is 'supposed' to look like”. Then my mother started at me: “Pluck your eyebrows for your sister, it’s her wedding day”. By this time, it was either run for a cup of tea and a forbidden cigarette, or shove the beauticians curling wand right up her condescending ass.
Luckily, I have now reached the age where most of my friends are married if they ever intended to be, so my ‘bridesmaidly’ duties seem to be done for the time being. But the very next time one of my friends approaches bearing a diamond ring and a big question, I may well, for my own sanity, be found hiding under the table.