I am creating a monster. I am aware of this yet cannot seem to stop myself. I have fed this beast, watered it, nurtured it, and even taped shows for it. What awful animal is this? My friends, I have made a Bridezilla.
It all started so innocently. My children are very limited in what they are allowed to watch on television. PBS Kids is still king, they don’t know Nickelodeon exists, or that there is a whole Disney channel. My daughter just watched High School Musical for the first time and her choice of lounging around the house clothes still leans toward princess or ballerina-wear. However, come nighttime, when I need to cook a meal, or take a shower, or put the little guy to bed, I needed something for her to watch to keep her from bothering me. Enter Say Yes to the Dress.
For those of you blessedly unaware of this little piece of hell in Manhattan, the show is about women going wedding dress shopping. My daughter loves it. She now requires that I DVR it for her. I did draw the line at taping the spinoff Big Bliss which just focuses on fat women and I do preview every episode and delete the ones that focus too heavily on body issues or the fiancé picking the dress. Call me old-fashioned, but I still think a woman should dress to please herself.
From there, my daughter started becoming obsessed with weddings. She wore the Ariel wedding dress to her sixth birthday party. Her favorite song is Bruno Mars “Marry You.” She plays it on repeat, at top volume. I actually had to look up the lyrics so that she stopped saying “dancing Jews” and used the correct phrase “dancing juice.” She could play Taylor’s Swifts “Love Story” for eternity because it is a perfect blend of her two fave’s – princess dresses and weddings. On the few occasions she has been allowed to watch my wedding video, she cries because she wasn’t there. I have tried explaining that she was a few years away from even existing but she still cries. I was not a Bridezilla (I don’t think), but to be fair, that is probably because I spent most of my time fending off Momzilla. The fact that I even survived my wedding is an accomplishment.
My bride-in-training is actually going to a flower girl in a wedding this summer and I am not worried about her walking down the aisle; I’m worried about her stepping aside in order for the bride to follow. In her head, because she will go first, she is the most important. So of course, the Easter Bunny had to bring her the Barbie Wedding set, complete with flower girl, bridesmaid, bride, groom, cake, and presents. She loved it, though had no idea what the point of the guy was. Brilliant.
Where is this all leading? Well, tomorrow is the Royal Wedding. I would be remiss as a parent if I didn’t wake my little girl at 5 a.m. and let her gorge herself on the pomp and circumstance that is the British in full bloom. I’m serving banana and cinnamon bread and a nice selection of caffeine-free tea for us to share. I remember Diana getting married. Why not allow my child to witness the marriage of the couple she will live to see crowned? (Though seriously, those Windsor’s live forever so it could take awhile.) I know that I could DVR it, but that’s not watching history being made. She’s off from school, we have nothing else to do, so if we laze away the afternoon in a fog of lethargy and carb-overload, then so be it. This is how memories are made.
Will I pay for this later in life? Probabaly. But here’s hoping that if I do get to take her bridal dress shopping one day, the fond recollection of our morning spent watching Will and Kate will help alleviate the pain of paying for the damn thing.