Your wedding day. The happiest day of your life. The day when everyone can be relied upon to swallow their actual thoughts upon watching you flounce down the aisle looking for all the world like an escaped loo roll holder (remember these?) and instead murmur, ‘The bride! So gorgeous’.
Except, sometimes, it doesn’t happen like that. It happens like this: some.ly/elo757
I’m not sure what baffles/offends/astonishes me more about this. The idea that the bride’s wedding dress was paid for by her parents? The idea that they refer to the (presumably enclosed) cash as ‘insuring our investment’? The divorce rate is 50% in the USA, so I guess there’s a fair chance their little darling would be the blushing bride more than once, but surely she’d at least change dresses when she changed groom? The fact that they’re telling her to weigh herself weekly, as if she’s a calf??
A friend of mine was a cheerleader in Texas, which is apparently as awful as it sounds (mind you, it was either that or Bible group, so she chose well). She has many eye-popping stories, but my favourite is that the girls’ thigh measurements were taken weekly. Any teenager demonstrating even the slightest increase in millimetreage was banned from the pyramid and the Spirit Sprinkles until the following week’s measuring.
Strikes me that this poor bride may well have a mother who once was a cheerleader. Either way: run! Run for the hills! And leave the dress behind…