Support System

Bridesmaid. Whatever does this mean? I was a bridesmaid once. I never felt forced to do anything, except wear a dress in which I had no input and then buy some wedding gifts, but I buy gifts for tons of weddings so that wasn’t new. I went to a shower and a bachelorette party, got my nails done, got dressed with the bride, ate free food, danced like an idiot—the usual wedding shenanigans. So, based on my own, lone experience and pretty laid-back outlook (we’re having the reception in my backyard—not exactly the Plaza), I’m not expecting a lot. Yes, I get to play dress up, and yes, I expect my bridesmaids to show up on the wedding day, but other than that it shouldn’t be too hard a job. So whom to ask?

The answer is: a range of old buddies, ladies I played sports with, taught bratty little Greenwich kids with, had sleepovers with…ladies I want to go to Vegas with and go on “Girlfriend Getaways” with and the select few I see myself being friends with forever. Wow, that sounds corny. But, corny and all, my selection criteria whittled the selection down to, oh, five people. Which is good, I think, in the grand scheme of having to choose someone who will volunteer to watch me vomit out the back door of the church as the piano starts playing Here Comes the Bride. (As if I would choose that song to walk in to. I’m more of a U2, Tom Petty kind of girl).

Five invites, five acceptances. On to the ugly dress!