And the men who allegedly love them.
I just saw an ad calling for the next season of Bridezillas. “The search is on! The next Bridezilla could be you!”
How I came across this ad is not important but I’ll tell you lest you think it’s because I sought out this call. I watch Bridezillas. I have a Series Pass to Bridezillas. I thank the gods every day that I no longer have a TiVo so it can’t recommend to me other television shows based on my preferences.
But I’m confused. Who watches that ad and says, “OMG! That’s me! I want to be a Bridezilla!” No, seriously, I want to know. Who?
While I love Bridezillas the show I hate Bridezillas the women. It is above and beyond me how any of these women have friends, family, and most importantly fiances. WHO IS MARRYING THESE WRETCHED BRIDAL BEASTS?
Okay as I write this a bride is on TV yelling at her sister because she doesn’t fit into her maid of honor dress. Her sister just had a baby!
“You look like you have an ass crack on your back. No more eating or tanning this week.”
Now they’re fighting about who is going to be “tanner” on the wedding day. I think I know who is going to win the melanoma war. It’s like watching a wildebeest take on a hermit crab. No, scratch that. A hermit crab has a shell. A wildebeest and a fruit fly.
I’d like to think that my seeking entertainment by watching the dredges of humanity meltdown on limo drivers, seamstresses, baby weight, and weaves gone awry all while wearing enough taffeta to blanket the state of Idaho is not all in vain. No. I like to believe it serves a higher purpose and that is to warn you. I am kind of an expert on this show, after all.
People: if anyone close to you says “I’m going to be on Bridezillas!” or “I want to be on Bridezillas!” or “I tried to audition for Bridezillas but the WE network turned me down because they don’t have enough insurance to cover me!” you need to run. GO! Far, far away. Do not feel bad about dumping this person. They have given you a wonderful gift: a glimpse into their black, little souls by offering that little nugget. And for the love of all things holy, MEN: DO NOT MARRY THIS WOMAN! They have designs on your manhood. They hate your mothers. They want to be on a reality TV show about psychotic, crazed, overspending, delusional brides! They are not acting!
Do you really want to lean in for your first kiss only to hear your new wife’s steely breath hiss in your face, Don’t ruin my lipstick, as she offers you her cheek? Her cheek! Trust me, buddy, that’s the rest of your life right there. The days of “ruining her lipstick” are over. In fact, she may never wear lipstick again. I guarantee you “The Bride of the 7 Dresses” probably put on her sweats 33 minutes after the ceremony and hasn’t taken them off since.
Oh, I could go on. I could tell you about the drunken little hussy who got wasted at the rehearsal dinner and almost called off the wedding because her groom-to-be wouldn’t leave the guests to go outside and have a quickie with her. (She later got wasted at the wedding and accused him of having an affair with some chick he danced with. I think it was his cousin.)
I could tell you about Princess Psycho who lashed out at everyone around her because it was raining 3 days before her wedding.
Or the total nutjob who actually named her bitchy side– Bambi– so she could walk around town terrorizing limo drivers, tuxedo shops, florists, and of course her fiance, and not have to take responsibility for it!
“Bambi got pissed. She needs things done right. You do not want to get in Bambi’s way.”
Umm, Bambi? I’ve got another reality show for you. It’s called Inter-freakin-vention. Here’s where to sign.
So I beg of you: Ask your friends, ask your friends’ friends, ask the limo drivers, tuxedo renters, and florist in your town. Does anyone know any of these women and more importantly, the men who married them? I must talk to them immediately. Or email really. I’m too afraid to be in the same room with any of them. Especially, Bambi.
In the meantime, I leave you with this little gem of quality television:
Now go update your Netflix queues. You have some catching up to do.