Bad Bridesmaid (20 page)

After it was all over, I was actually amazed at how little Id had to do. Part of me had wanted to make a speech or lead the room in a toast, or at least hold The Bride’s flowers while she traded rings.

The logic of women is a mysterious thing, and we often find ourselves craving roles, men, and carbohydrates we had once resolutely shunned. Women who plan nontraditional weddings still want it known that they have friends willing to parade around in
a silly outfit for them. And some of us really do try to be good wedding attendants even though we are bad at taking orders and not being the center of attention.

Two months earlier, I had spent the duration of a wedding trying to disappear into my own skin. After successfully making it down the aisle in wedding number two, I found myself thinking instead about Daisy Leach, a ninety-two-year-old British woman who had been a bridesmaid earlier in the year for her forty-five-year-old niece. The
Financial Times
had reported that Mrs. Leach was supposed to have been a bridesmaid more than seventy years earlier, at the wedding of her brother George in 1929. Two days before the special event, Daisy’s sister Florie, who was just nineteen, was killed on her way to work at Harrod’s department store, when a car hit her bicycle. The wedding went ahead as planned, but the devastated Mrs. Leach did not participate.

Decades later, she told her niece, Gillian Curtis, that she had always wanted to be a bridesmaid, and was granted her request in the form of a blue-and-pink dress and lilac-colored hat.

“My great aunt was absolutely delighted when we asked her,” Gillian told the media. “I suppose her dream of becoming a bridesmaid has come true.”

I thought about Daisy as I stood beside the altar during my best friend’s wedding. From where I was positioned, I could see the expression on her face as she repeated her vows and watch her slide a ring onto her new husband’s finger. As the rest of the church watched the priest and admired the back of The Bride’s veil, I actually saw her get married, the happiness on her face and the sparkle in her eyes as she prepared to seal it with a kiss. Bridesmaids have a unique perspective on the weddings they
attend, and, like Daisy, I wouldn’t have given up a second shot at that view for the world.

Not every bridesmaid will make it to that special place without some misfortune, without rolling her eyes or questioning the emotional toll or expense of it all. Most women who take on the role, however, do so out of sincere happiness for their friend and the desire to share their special day. “I love her to death, but …” they would say to me before launching into their stories of bridesmaid hell.

Like me, they all wanted to be a part of the event, dancing and drinking and sending their friend off to her new married life in style.

A lot of us bridesmaids really do our best to be Good in the name of her big day.

But sometimes it’s just so much easier to be Bad.

A
big thank-you to all the women who contributed stories for this book.

My literary agent, Rick Broadhead, who is all business even without a cell phone, and who knows more about bridesmaids than any man should. Sarah Knight, Patrick Clark, and everyone at Henry Holt; Kate Cassaday, Iris Tupholme, Melanie Storoschuk, and the team at HarperCollins.

Steve Meurice, John Racovali, Doug Kelly, Sarah Murdoch, Anne Marie Owens, and everyone at the
National Post
for being the funniest people in journalism.

Chloé Raincock, Elizabeth McGroarty, Jenna Greck, Aynsley Toole, Sarah Redekopp, Jessica Johnson, Gillian Hnatiw, Maggie Wente, and Amy O’Brian—the coolest girlfriends a chick can have.

Beth Montemurro, Cele Otnes, Deborah McCoy, and Jennifer Whidden for their insight on all things wedding related.

Kazuyoshi Ehara and Jordana Huber for dealing with my hatred of cameras.

The McGinn and Garcia families for their support.

My family—Tina, Michael, and Kirsty Agrell—for loving me even when I’m bad.

And thanks to brides everywhere, because we really do love you.