Bridesmaids. July 9, 2007

I’ve been a bridesmaid once and I can’t say that it was all sunshine and bliss and unicorn dust. 
 
I was 22, fresh out of college, and had just started my very first job. The one that paid me so little that, after covering the exorbitant rent of my first Manhattan apartment, there were mere pennies left. The one I have to thank for being so darn skinny at the time because, quite frankly, I couldn’t afford to eat.  
 
Now how was a girl who could barely afford to eat supposed to buy a ridiculously expensive Vera Wang gown, a gown so low cut she actually apologized to God before walking into the church for the wedding? Let alone afford the shoes and all the gifts (bridal shower, bachelorette party, actual wedding) and the hair and the make-up and the nails. (Some day, my Visa will be magically paid off. No, really, it’s going to happen. I’ll just keep making the minimum payments and, uh, praying.) 
 
I learned the hard way that being a bridesmaid involves a whole lot more than the (very free) “support and love on my big day.” It’s an investment - both financially and emotionally. It’s also a pain in the ass. I, for one, tied countless - countless! - ribbons on programs without the aid of any wine because the bride thought that wine would make us sloppy. I politely informed her that wine would keep us from throwing her out the 18^th floor window but she thought I was kidding. 
 
Deciding on the bridesmaids was one of the hardest decisions of my life. You think I’m joking.  
 
I felt like the bachelor, when he’s in that room before the rose ceremony, and he’s looking at the photos of all the women competing for his love (and their 15 minutes), pondering each and every one. 
 
Except I was just kind of laying on my bed in my jammies one night, staring up at the frames on the wall filled with black and white photos of my friends. Also, no roses. 
 
Essentially, what it came down to was one simple question: Who do I want in the limo with me in the moments before I get out and walk down the aisle and take one of the biggest steps a human being can possibly take? Who is going to make me laugh? Who is going to tell me I have something in my teeth? Who is going to want to cry but will stop herself because she knows that crying will make me cry and subsequently ruin my make up?  
 
Do I want the friend that I adore and see often who is a lot of fun to drink with but is less reliable when it comes to things such as, oh, showing up on time or even at all? Probably not. 
 
Do I want the friend that I don’t see very often but who has been there for me at some major moments in my life and who I can call at 4am for a late-night weepy conversation without a hint of hesitation? Why, yes. 
 
So, the asking has been done. And the girls have been chosen. And they all seem deliriously excited at the prospect. For now. I’m sure the resentment will come - it’s almost inevitable - but I hope to keep that resentment to a minimum. They’re not my personal slaves for the duration of the wedding planning - they’re my friends.  
 
And besides, it’s supposed to be fun. As one of them responded - after I told her I was a bit nervous about asking her for fear that it’s a huge commitment and expectation of someone, “Of course. First of all, I love you. Second of all, who ever complained about the opportunity to get all prettied up and be the center of attention and possibly hook up with a groomsman. Wait - are the groomsmen hot? I get first dibs. Shit, I have to diet.” 
 
And that’s why she’s one of the people I want in the limo with me.