I feel like I try really hard. I feel like I fall really hard and then I feel like it's really hard to get back up. And the topic I'd like to cover today is weddings. I'm something of a wedding expert, as life would have it. I can't plan your wedding. No, I would suck at that. I'm a terrible party planner. I'm also horrible at wedding etiquette. I learned the hard way that you shouldn't wear white to a wedding, even if it's technically egg-shell (wouldn't you say so, Christina?). But life has made me a bit of a wedding connoisseur because as luck would have it, I am so incredibly popular that in the last few years, I've attended, on average, five weddings per season. I'm also going broke.
My wedding expertise lies in the areas of Spanx-wear and feeling like the fat chick. I'm not really fat but I seem to associate with very thin people. It takes a lot of maturity to be friends with you all! You're also welcome for my ability to allow you to look better by comparison. I'm so self-less, I can't even take it. But for all you thin people who don't understand (or respect) the process, I'm here to shed some light.
Wedding preparation goes a little like this:
- Vow to be thin for this wedding unlike the 33 that preceded it.
- Begin losing weight - this is finally looking promising!
- Don't buy a dress yet because it will surely be way too loose by the time you walk in that church, hot mama!
- 4-6 weeks before the wedding and after about ten pounds of weight loss (on average), celebrate with a little junk food fest.
- Continue junk food fest for 4-6 weeks. It's OK, nobody's looking...
- Begin dress shopping 24-48 hours before the wedding date.
- Buy a dress suitable for a woman 30 years your senior.
- Purchase Spanx.
- Begin junk food fest number 2.
- Self-tan with an emergency tube of Jergen's Lotion (tan is slimming).
- Cry (reprise)
- At the wedding: suck in, don't breathe, unfold Spanx as they bunch and hope the cute little old man who asked for a dance at the wedding doesn't put his hand on your back and inadvertently feel the ten pounds of shape-wear you are surely sweating your ass off in (hey, got to burn the calories somehow).
- Compare yourself to other women at the wedding.
- Eat your cake, it doesn't matter anymore.
- Eat your date's cake.
- Cringe at pictures of you and your chins posted to Facebook. (How I miss the days of developing film).
- Vow to be thin for the next wedding.
I never get to buy a dress I really like. I only get to buy dresses that down play my issues. I'd love to pull off a chic-hippie look (oxymoron?) or that little black dress. The only look I can pull off these days is the trying-not-to-look-as-big-as-I-really-am look. The can-you-see-my-Spanx look. Or the ruffles-make-a-difference-look. It's a dirty job but I guess someone has to do it, though I think I'm 'bout ready to retire. I blame all my problems on celebrities. Would it kill Jennifer Aniston to sport a little gut to make the rest of us feel like we're not doing something wrong? Do you suppose Kim Kardashian could show a tiny bit of armpit stubble to at least desensitize the American public so that when mine pops out my boyfriend, small children and other beach-goers are only mildly horrified by it instead of downright grossed out? I can't be the only female with an excess of body fat and hair can I? The only female who's only slightly gross- like normal people gross, but not full-on disgusting and should be condemned to a room for six months with nothing but a glass of water and a razor kind of gross? Surely that's normal gross and not abnormal gross but with these laser hair removed, A-list trainer, organic food delivery chickies filling up my TV screen and internet feeds, how am I (we?) supposed to feel like anything but overgrown, stubbly losers? My full-time job isn't looking good. Maybe if I spent forty hours a week working out, waxing things and had an unlimited clothing budget, I'd blow them out of the water too. And who am I kidding? If I got that opportunity, I would totally take it, flaunt it and make people like me feel inadequate for the rest of their lives. Or maybe just maybe, I would take the hairy, high road...