Bridezilla is a real thing.
You see that word and you envision a reality show, some over-indulged, moderately privileged bride snapping at people as she plans her wedding.
And then you are in Starbucks right now and you realize that the most over the top episode of Bridezilla is a best case scenario.
Because she is here.
The bride to be.
The name conjures a Britney Spears image.
A pretty blonde with good teeth in suggestive clothing.
The suggestive clothing is there, and that is all.
In your head, replace Britney Spears with a chunkier Roseanne Barr with bad hair and a serious overbite.
Take a second and let that sink in.
If a shudder just went down your back, understand that its just being described to you, I am actually here.
And her entry is epic and befitting the name Bridezilla.
The front door of Starbucks opens with a little too much force and in she comes, talking on her phone to Lorraine. (How do we know her name?)
“Because I’m the fucking bride, Lorraine!”
The phone being an inch from her mouth did not stop her from yelling. Loud.
Is the situation made better or worse that Amber is about 6 months pregnant?
That is a rhetorical question.
And the argument could be made that it doesn’t make it worse, but it does add to the comedic value of the entire situation.
Also, call me old fashioned, but the soon to be mama should go easy on the caffeine.
A soy latte with a triple shot seems excessive.
But she is drinking for two.
To each his or her own.
Sure you risk low birth weight, but have you HAD a triple shot soy latte?
Lets check the obscenity board while we have a moment.
Things Lorraine (Maid of Honor) has been called in the 2 minutes since Bridezilla came into our lives.
Cunt 3 times. (To be specific, 1 cunt, 1 dumb cunt and 1 response of cunt when responding to what I believe was Lorraine objecting to being called a dumb cunt.)
The list will end here. It seemed like a great idea, and then it got entirely too sad when viewed as a societal comment of millennials in general. (Plus, Bridezilla is sitting next to me and I am in fear for my life that she will lean over and read this.)
So, after the longest 10 minutes of my recent life, during which a triple soy latte was guzzled, 6 petite vanilla bean scones and 1 Gogurt from her purse, Bridezilla got up and stomped her way out of our lives.
I was going to make a joke about missing her already, but its a little late in the game to start lying to each other.
In parting, let me throw some wisdom your way.
Call your mom, if you are married to the mother of your kids, kiss her, send a text if she is your ex-
And thank her, from the bottom of your heart.
For not being Bridezilla.
(Unless she is, then you are just fucked, my friend.)
(And if she is Lorraine, dim the lights, get her a glass of wine and rub her feet. You’re fucked too, but in a different way. And if you can get me an invite to the wedding, I would consider it a solid. Thanks bro.)