“No, no, no! This is ALL wrong!” Daysha snapped her fingers at the wedding planner, Ernesto. “Ernie, darling, I said ‘haute couture.’ Are you daft? What are these bargain bin table cloths doing here?” Ernesto began clapping his hands furiously at his staff, instructing them in some other language to destroy the offensive table cloths. Mackenzie rolled her eyes. Spanish, she thought. It sounds like Spanish. After a few more moments of gawking in disbelief as Ernesto’s entourage jumped through Daysha’s hoops, Mackenzie realized bridezilla was speaking to her.
“Hello?! Earth to Mackenzie!” Mackenzie wondered if Daysha was aware she was two seconds from snapping her neck. “What, Daysha?” “I swear, Mackenzie. You are quite possibly the worst maid of honor in history.” She glanced at her fingernails. “Matron of honor, D. Married women with children are matrons, we are no longer maids.” Daysha shrugged, “Whatever. Anyway, as I was saying, can you believe the nerve? They’re supposed to be professional stylists. What kind of professionals would try to use Martha Stewart tablecloths for an haute couture table dressing?” Mackenzie stared blankly. “The kind of professionals that are trying to save you a little bit of money because you’re already spending enough money to buy a damn pyramid. And D, I have no fucking idea what haute couture even means, but it’s really annoying when you say that.”
Mackenzie spun on her heels and started to walk away. Daysha caught up with her. “What is your problem, Mac?” Mackenzie turned to face her best friend. A wave of sadness washed over her for the stranger Daysha had become. “D, this whole thing is a big fucking joke. People are supposed to get married for love. A wedding is not a horse and pony show, D. It’s a celebration of the union of two people who are in love.” Daysha shifted her eyes, making sure no one could hear the two speaking. “Mac, welcome to reality. Being in love is overrated. I care deeply about Michael, but what I’m in love with is his hefty bank account and the status that being Mrs. Michael Bradford will bring me. The sky’s the limit, Mac. Besides,” she looked Mackenzie up and down, “you married for ‘love’ and look where it got you: you're a broke babysitter with not even enough free time to get a manicure.” Mackenzie’s blood boiled. She jammed an un-manicured pointer finger into her friend’s chest as she spoke, “There are a lot more important things in life than money, Daysha. Maybe I don’t wear the top designer clothes and yes, maybe I do forego an occasional manicure or waxing to make sure my children are fed. But at least I’m fucking happy, Daysha, which is a lot more than I can say for what you’re going to be.” With that, Mackenzie turned to exit banquet hall. “Haute couture, my ass,” she grumbled as she stormed out.
Daysha had apologized profusely, though Mackenzie suspected it was more because she would be humiliated if her matron of honor was a no-show. Mackenzie swallowed her pride and agreed to partake in the circus. The ceremony went off without a hitch and the couple shared a passionless kiss to seal the deal. Mackenzie was sickened, but Daysha had been her best friend since they were in grade school. Though she made it clear she didn’t approve of Daysha’s choices, she had an obligation to be supportive. Daysha hadn’t judged her, even when her family disowned her for marrying a man who was almost 20 years her senior. She glanced over at
About that time, the chiming of a fork against a champagne flute quieted everyone’s voices. The best man, Michael’s brother, was about to make a presentation for the newlyweds. Max had put together a photographic slide show of the couple’s history as a tribute; he was apparently a genius with all things technological.
Everyone turned to face the big screen as he spoke, “On this very special day, I would like to raise a glass to my little brother and his beautiful bride.” Max raised his glass and everyone followed suit. “My wish for you is a lifetime filled with happiness and love. Cheers!” Yea right, Mackenzie thought. “Cheers!” the crowd repeated. A lifetime of bank statements and shopping sprees is more like it. “Mike, Daysha. I have put together a little slideshow in honor of your special day.”
The lights dimmed and the screen flashed. Mackenzie’s twins climbed into her lap for the show.
A picture finally filled the screen. Only, it wasn’t a picture of Michael and Daysha, it was a video of Max banging Daysha from behind in some seedy motel. Gasps filled the audience. Max turned bright red as he fumbled with the remote to turn the projector off. Mackenzie covered the twins’ eyes. “Okay, that would be our cue to make an exit.”
Mackenzie and her family, along with most everyone else in the room, rose and started to leave. Daysha dashed over to her before she could reach the door. “Mac! You’re just going to leave?! I’m mortified! You’re my best friend; you’re supposed to be here for me!” Mackenzie smiled. “Daysha, I love you dearly. Which is why I wore this ridiculous paper mache dress. But I told you, marriage should be about love. Had you married someone you loved, there wouldn’t have ever been a video to humiliate you. You’ve made your bed. Now, you’ve just gotta lie in it. Now, if you’ll excuse us. This broke babysitter needs to get these kids to bed. Good luck with that,” she said as she pointed over Daysha’s shoulder at her husband and his brother who were now rolling around on the ground, attempting to fight.
Daysha was left standing there, embarrassed and alone, watching her husband and the love of her life wrestle around on the ground. “Ok,” she thought. “Maybe Mackenzie did have a point.”
*Entry written for therealljidol.
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