Chapter 2 - The Amazingly Long Chronicles of Pregzilla

We're dealing with some cancelled ballgames today, so I've got a few idle moments at home. So, grab a beverage, sit back (this is REALLY long) and for your reading enjoyment, here is the incredible backstory of Pregzilla...

The Pre-Nuptials

Last fall: Bachelor boss (goodhearted, but QUITE eccentric) was in search of a wife. Like, yesterday . Had found some sweet young candidates in his travels around the country, but nothing had ever worked out. Had some very good choices in our own locale, as well, but they didn't meet his requirements - too old (over 25) , already had children, not willing to travel worldwide. He RAN from these women. Somewhat unreasonable marriage criteria, I thought, for a man himself approaching middle age, and while ordinarily charming, is not exactly the image of a Chippendale model or anything, but whatever...

I was his personal admin assistant. He is extremely busy, has no time or patience for the mundane - I even took care of his personal finances. I was actually looking forward to the idea that a big chunk of what I was doing would be taken over by his wife if/when he married, because he was quite candid with his plan to choose a wife whom he could bring into the business. I didn't mind picking up the slack temporarily. Like I said, eccentric, but a really pleasant guy, most of the time.

Anyhoo, he met P at a gathering in the fall and she began randomly turning up. He was intrigued, because she seemed fresh and engaging and enthusiastic and willing to learn the ropes of the business. REALLY intrigued, and within a very few weeks, they were engaged. Weird, kinda shocking actually, but everything seemed tentatively good.

So she didn't care about the wedding, just wanted to be married. Sweet. Which was good, because they decided to set the date for like 3 weeks after their betrothal. The wedding budget was thinner than a shoestring, and so his family determined to step in and help make it as nice as possible with lots of offers of bridal attire and decorations.

Only, as the planning began, it became clear Bridezilla did INDEED care about the wedding. She went from not minding what she wore to turning up her nose at every offer of a gown. She wanted her OWN gown, in the style SHE wanted. (Understandable, but please, make up your mind.)

Her bridesmaids ALL backed out on her in short order, even her MOH. Her future dh picked her another MOH(no kidding), out of his stash of friends and family. Just a big red warning flag on the path to the altar, in retrospect.

Bridal Shower

Bridal shower turned out to be a co-ed affair. Which would have been fine, if it had been billed as such. But the boys who attended were invited on the spur of the moment, when it was discovered that due to all Bridezilla's friends (and most of her family, apparently) cutting a trail, there would be only a handful in attendance. So here came the guys, who except for the future in-laws, had never even met the bride. They came bearing no gifts, just an appetite.

AND....and this is HILARIOUS....one of the in-law nephews has a girlfriend, whose college roommate this year was from Japan. The girlfriend and her roommate came too, unnaccountably with a contingent of three of her Japanese co-ed friends, a girl and two boys - none of whom spoke fluent English. They understood EVERYTHING, but couldn't converse. They had never met ANY of us, but were here at the bridal shower nonetheless. In fact, I had BROUGHT them to the bridal shower in my 15 passenger van because they had broken down in a town about 45 miles away from the shower site and I offered to go pick them up, as well as drop them back off when the shower was over. That is an entertaining story in itself, but which I won't attempt to delve into here. Aren't you glad.

Anyhow, the Japanese observers (who had never seen an American bridal shower, they let us know) sat around watching the gift opening, chatting excitedly in their mother tongue, participated in the bridal shower games, won some prizes, and eyed the refreshment table coyly.

After the cake was cut and the buffet line had gone through, they went back again and again. Finally, they gave up the farce of civility and just STOOD hovered like buzzards AROUND the refreshment table eating ALL the rest of the sandwiches, chips, cake, mints, nuts and relish tray and drinking ALL the beverages until there were nothing but empty dishes, save the two small dill pickles on the relish tray that they decided were not tasty. No crumbs, because (and I'm not making this stuff up) they even licked the plates clean.

Wedding Prep

In other happenings, B-zilla finally found "THE" gown, and on the Thursday before the wedding on Saturday, offhandedly asked me to "hem" it for her, as I was the only one she knew of who could sew well. Turned out it didn't need to be HEMMED, it needed to be ALTERED. Those of you who have ever tried on a wedding gown (or heck, ANY kind of gown) KNOW the difference, right?

How can you possibly think, when you're falling out of the top of your wedding dress, that the problem is that it's too LONG??? Yeah, I can sew, but altering bridal gowns is a little outside my comfort zone. But I did it, and loaned her my crinoline to boot. She seemed appreciative...and I was relieved.

Oh, and by the way, she said, they'd be decorating the church tomorrow (but they weren't sure WHICH church yet ), and of course they'd need me to help. (FIRST I'd heard of it, but I had previously said I would be willing to pitch in with whatever, so I swallowed it. ) She didn't know what time they could get in though, could she call me early tomorrow? Okay. I told her when I'd be available.

Next day, she didn't call until EVENING, the only time I had told her I wouldn't be available. Hello. I could tell she was peeved, but I didn't feel too horrible - after all, I knew she had at least 20 in-laws that were on-site with her. And the testimonies I heard later made me glad I stayed away. "This is MY wedding." "Take that DOWN!!" "That looks HORRIBLE!!!" Wow. Bridezilla strips off the serene-faced latex mask and we see the frightening countenance beneath.

The Wedding:

Just before noon (wedding at 2 p.m.), the boss calls and asks me to drop past our business and pick up something on my way to the church. It was a check. TO PAY FOR the 500 pieces of chicken that would be ready at Wal-Mart anytime after one so could I please pick those up for the reception. Wahooooooo. OKAY.... AND..... AND....(you won't believe this) while I was at the office, would I please load up the WEDDING CAKE and bring that too? Two GIANT sheets and a multi-tiered main cake. Oh, and don't forget the topper. It was in the cooler too.

Now, I have to tell you. I have a degree in a field closely related to food service, and have dabbled in cake decoration, and the MAIN reason I NEVER even seriously considered cakes as a business is because of my abject FEAR of something happening to a wedding cake enroute. So, for me, this was a nightmare, not to mention that I had to find space to HAUL the cake - and THEN a totally removed space to haul the hot pieces of chicken so they wouldn't fall on the cake. Do you know how much SPACE that cake took? Do you have any idea how many boxes it takes to hold 500 pieces of chicken? YIKES. I still sweat thinking about that.

Got to the church to discover that the MOH had just been screamed at and ordered out of the dressing room. "I want to be ALONE!!!" Okay, Greta. (Garbo. Anybody remember that quote? Cricket. Cricket. Alrighty then....) She was upset. Tried to help calm her down.

Carried the cake into the reception area. The cake table was undecorated. I asked who was taking over from here. Cricket. Cricket. I seem to get that a lot.

So all the cakes were safely conveyed inside, I set up the table, decorated it (hey, I got out of it the day before, so see, I helped on the day of! ) And then set out the sheets and tiered the main cake, including the topper. Whew.

Went to check on the chicken in the kitchen to make sure it had been unloaded. Panic was still ensuing in the bridal chamber at this point, where Bridezilla was shrieking because the groom had just seen her on her way to use the facilities.

The ceremony was ready to start. We were all excusing and playing off the bride's behavior using the “extreme stress” card. The chicken was sitting lonely & forgotten in the kitchen, next to some food service-sized cans of corn, lemonade mix, tea mix, and pork & beans. Ummmm, who was in charge of the reception meal? An “older couple.” Nobody seemed to know the names of these elusive people, or where they were, just that they had everything under control. Only they never showed. Ever. Another of Bridezilla's back-outs.

At the very last moment that the baked beans could be prepared in time for the reception, I decided to act. I thought about pretending I didn’t notice that the kitchen was unmanned, but I just couldn’t. I mean, there were hundreds of people in that auditorium. So I grabbed a future SIL and we set up the buffet servers, I found enough ingredients to make baked beans (I mean, was she just planning on the old folks heating up plain pork and beans? GROSS!!!! )

We got everything prepared, made a few gallons of beverages and set up the serving area just in time to sneak into the wedding to see the "I Do's". Nice.

Reception went well. B-zilla was gracious and friendly and grateful. Well, except for the pictures, which were kind of harrowing, I heard, and included an ambulance visit. Don't ask. Really, don't ask. Anyway, so far, so good. After the reception, the folks she had recruited to return the church and reception area to their former splendor mysteriously vaporized. Surprise, surprise. Guess who had to tear down? My family and a few of her new in-laws. I mean, we couldn't just LEAVE it a mess and walk out!

Honeymoon:

Long story short, lots of medical issues for B-zill, which for some reason, were well-broadcast during the honeymoon via telephone, and recounted afterward to anyone who asked an idle question. UTI. Lower ab pain. ER visits at the honeymoon destination. Cyst on the ovary, which had burst. I said to my dh at the time "Okay, she's got the UTI because she's not peeing post- and those cysts are called EGGS, people. She ovulated. Let's inform the media. I'll bet you dollars to donuts we are in for an announcement in about a month."

Post-Honeymoon:

I took about a week off when they got back from their honeymoon to let B-zill settle in to her new job at our business. I gave her my desk right outside the boss' office, even set her up with office supplies and a sweet note. To thank me, she dug up all the passwords to all the business accounts and CHANGED them so that I could no longer access any of our corporate financial info -- which is my primary job. Without calling to ask me any questions, she paid all our utility bills - twice! Boss told me all financial matters had been taken care of, as if it was FINALLY in the hands of someone competent. It has taken me MONTHS to straighten out all havoc that happened the week I was gone.

That week was to be her very last in the office, because sure enough....she had a bun in the oven.

And let me tell you, NO ONE has had it as rough as she during a pregnancy. Cough. Cough. Multiple ER and Immediate care clinic visits. Refused to call the OB for advice, just demanded to go to the hospital. Pregzilla's dh was pressed into service to do ALL laundry, dishes and housework, because she was too sick, too tired, too sore, too unwilling. All those glowing promises she made about being eager to learn the ropes at the office. Blah. No dice. Which, trust me...is OKAY with me. (And trust me, I've had difficult pregnancies too, but you find a way to go on, to do what has to be done. I mean, if you can't lift the laundry basket, you loop a belt through the handle and drag it to the washer & dryer and back. Not Pregzilla. She shuts DOWN. "Dh, do the laundry. I can't carry the basket.")

I just feel badly for her dh. Such high hopes for marriage. I guess he should have known those red flags were not part of a parade, huh?

And that is the story.