While I was managing my friends' wedding in May, I heard the absolute worst bridezilla story every to infect my ears.
Too many details of horrible behavior to go into here, but the bottom line was that each maid was forced to buy a designer dress (over $1,000) plus craxy costing accessories so that they would look "perfect".
At some point, someone didn't look as perfect as required. So. The bride told the maids that she was a little overwrought from the excitement of the wedding on some island where the ceremony was held, so she needed to go back to land on the launch without them.
She left and never sent the boat back for them. They sat, in their designer duds, for 3 hours before someone said hey, where are those overworked, broke, slaves to convention?
The worst bit is, they didn't even hire a hitman to rub the bitca out! They actually went to the reception!!
It was So. Very. Heathers.
Some people on the phone think my name is spelled Ghenson. Really.
And the eternal battle to get people to care that I'm not a Jenson, I'm a Jensen.
I have a "d" that often ends up as "tt" in my last name. For things like resturant reservations, etc., I always just use my mother's maiden name (Greene)-- so much shorter and easier than either my last name or my husband's.
Beej, that bride should have been strangled. I had a friend who was told by a bride-to-be (sister-in-law-to-be, actually) that the dress she had to wear to be a part of the wedding was a tube dress. My friend was 8 months pregnant at the time of the wedding. She refused to wear the tube dress and the bride told her that if she didn't want to be part of the wedding party it was her own fault. That bride to be also made us all leave a football game because her teeth were cold. (And, yes, we all mumbled something about how she should maybe shut her mouth.)
ION: Hello, Bitches!
She
left
them on an
island?
Dude.
Hi Sparky!
She left them on an island?
One hopes that they went to the reception and made trouble. I think I would have asked the bartender for a glass of red wine and headed my clumsy self straight for the bride, but I have poor impulse control when hopping mad. ("Oops? Did I spill that on your pretty white dress?")
Also, the Canadians have the right idea by say Zed for Z. Because then I wouldn't have to do the whole "z as in zebra/zipper" because that doesn't always work and there are weirdly placed "v"s or "c"s in my name.
We can't take credit for that, you know. The people who developed the language did that. (Be careful out among dem English) You folks could still be doing right, but no, you had to get all revolutiony and Webster-worshippy. Tsk.
Hmm. I like to think that I would have brought a universe of misery to the bride, had she done such a thing to me and mine, but my automatic reaction to conflict is generally "oh shit, it's my fault, I suck. Sorry, sorry, how can I fix this? Sorry. Shit. I hate me."
However, my automatic reaction to overt and unprompted rudeness is
"DIE, MOTHERFUCKER! DIE! DIE AGAIN! DIE HARDER! SUCK MY COCK! NOW DIE AGAIN!"
or, well, no, it's not so rude, but I think you're feeling the wrath? Lots of wrath.
Also, after reflection, I quite often repent my initial 'I suck' response and move to a slowburning sense of wrath, as illustrated above.
I'm thinking that three hours would probably have moved me beyond apologetic through apoplectic and into apocalyptic. Do not pass go, do not collect £200.
edited
for alliteration. Um. Because.
My last name problem is pronounciation. I'm a Pete, not a Pet.
I've given up the battle on pronounciation of my last name. My first name I'll still correct, but the last name I'll answer to anything remotely close. Or sometimes an S sound followed by an "I can't figure out how to say this" facial expression.
