This is one of the more embarrassing things I’m going to admit.

I blog about weddings a lot, but I do not want to get married anytime soon. I just like weddings. I like to party. I like the trends. I like the blogs. I like looking at dresses and looking at rings. I’m a wedding girl. These things happen. This is my wedding shame.

A few years ago, I was in the middle of wedding fever, and the only prescription was more cowbell more wedding fodder. The blogs just weren’t enough. I needed something harder. I needed a magazine.

Shit was getting real.

But I didn’t actually want to pay for the magazine. I hadn’t completely lost my mind. So I searched the internet for “free wedding magazine subscription.” (I know, I know. I just, I know.) I found a lot of leads. Some were dead ends. Finally I found something. A new wedding magazine was offering to send the first issue, free. Zero payment.

But there was a catch. You needed to provide the date of your wedding, the location (just the city) and the name of the groom. Which is really fucking weird, why the hell do they need to know the name of the groom? What if you are the groom? What if you’re a lady marrying a lady? I still don’t get it. But whatever. I made up a date, put my city, and as for the groom…I glanced around my room, looking for inspiration, the way Robin Williams did to come up with the name Mrs. Doubtfire.

And then I saw it. My cat.

Yes. My cat.

I’m not proud of this.

I used the name of my cat.

My cat’s name was Sony (may he rest in peace.) So I put my fiance as “Mr. S. Ony.”

“Haha!” I thought. “I beat you, wedding industry! I beat your system! I’m not even ENGAGED. My fiance is my CAT . Who’s stupid now???”

Oh, Almie. You.

Because now, I get all these invites for bridal shows:

It was ONE time, years ago, and I STILL GET THESE. It was one time. ONE TIME! Yes, I got the magazine. It was enjoyable. But ever since, I’ve been getting an endless stream of postcards inviting me to bridal showplaces. (Sometimes the invites come in a nice envelope, leading me to believe that I was invited to an actual party or wedding. And then I open it and feel like an idiot.)

These showplaces are events one goes to when they’re actually engaged to be married. Some things you can do at these events:

• Attend seminars. About…who the fuck knows.
• Get makeovers.
• Find free (sure) or discounted wedding planners.
• Sample cakes, hours d’oeuvres, chocolate desserts, and candy buffets.
• Win prizes.
• Get free stuff, like personalized t-shirts.
• See a bridal fashion show and the latest wedding gowns.

Even after I moved, they still found me. I don’t know how, but they found me. Run for it, Marty!

And I get emails too. So many emails soliciting me for wedding and bridal stuff.

This is my fault. I know it. To quote a sobbing Wadsworth (Clue), “We all make mistakes.” And to quote Mr. Green, “Mrs. Peacock was a man?” And to quote Wadsworth again, “Why should the police come? Nobody’s called them.” Those last two don’t have anything to do with this, but once I start quoting Clue, it’s very hard for me to stop.

Anyone else here have some embarrassing wedding stories? Please share.

 

PHOTO CREDIT: Daryl Westbrook, 1970, Nantucket Historical Association via Flickr. Reposted with permission from Apocalypstick.com.