Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, July 22, 1993 TAG: 9307220252
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Beth Macy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Some other friends of mine, both single, used to pore over all the newlywed pictures, then try to guess - before reading the blurbs - whether the people went to college or not.
I myself cannot read a features section of The New York Times without checking every "Weddings" write-up to see if there are any newlyweds listed whose parents aren't vice presidents of Chase Manhattan Bank or pioneering researchers at M.I.T. I'm disgusted - and utterly compelled, voyeuristically speaking - by the pomp and exclusion.
A couple years ago, this newspaper went from formatted, free bridal announcements to paid-advertisement bridal announcements, though customers are now free to write whatever they want.
In the old, formatted days, no descriptions of bridal gowns and attendants' dresses were allowed, no lengthy summation of the operatic singer and her stunning deliverance of "The Wedding Song."
In the new, no-holds-barred days, you can learn that the matron of honor "wore a white floor-length gown of taffeta accented with lace by Bianchi and carried a nosegay of bridal white and champagne roses, freesia, bouvardia and baby's breath."
For one thing, it gives you the opportunity to run across the word "nosegay" (dictionary: "a small bunch of flowers"), which you would never otherwise do.
For another, it makes the Sunday paper a much better read.
I'm especially interested in the bridesmaids part of the blurbs because I know that when it says "The attendants wore off-the-shoulder, tea-length dresses in sea foam satin," what it really means is:
"The bridesmaids had to shell out 200 bucks for a hideous dress they'll never wear again, plus an extra $50 for the dyed-to-match sea foam pumps, which somehow shrank a half-size in the dyeing process, leaving them with blisters. The fact that the lecherous groomsmen - in their simple, rented tuxedos - forced them to dance to `I'm Too Sexy' after drinking too much pink champagne only prolonged the pain."
No, I'm not bitter. But I have had the bridesmaids' blues, four times in fact.
There was my first, the full-length, shimmering, royal-blue ruffled evening gown that even the skinny people looked really fat in. In a way, that one was both the ugliest and my favorite because it didn't waste valuable closet space for very long. The dress got so trashed at the reception (a [ital]really[nonital] good reception) that there was no hope for its recovery. When I woke up the following afternoon I threw it away.
Which is what I should've done with the next three dresses, all taffeta and all tea-length. Tea-length is a dangerous code for all brides-to-be because it gives them the excuse to declare that you can actually wear the dress again.
Which is a shameless lie. Notice they never offer suggestions as to where you'd actually wear the dress. A tea? One of those formal cocktail parties you're always being invited to?
All three of those weddings were in the summer of '86, a particularly brutal season. I'd just graduated from college, earning $200 a week as a city magazine intern in Columbus, Ohio. My rusted-out VW Bug barely made it to one of the weddings, which was three hours away, and after spending $200 on the fuchsia pink ensemble (shoes, dress, matching hair bow) I didn't have enough money left to stay in a hotel, let alone buy the couple a wedding gift.
The ironic thing is that when I got married four years later, the couple was "too busy" to even attend my wedding, although they did send a nice set of towels.
My husband and I had a pretty laid-back wedding, clothing-wise. I tried to get him to wear the black tux he'd found in a dumpster, but because of the heat (it was outside, in September) he insisted on wearing a light seersucker suit.
Although none of the groomsmen matched, I asked the bridesmaids to pick out a dress from a catalog I liked. Miraculously, they settled on a sleeveless, floral-print dress, and I'm positive they wore them again. You can imagine my surprise when I turned on Channel 7 news one morning and saw anchor Nesita Kwan, who'd introduced my husband and me, wearing her bridesmaid dress with a jacket - two weeks [ital]before[nonital] our wedding.
Since I was one of the last of my high school and college friends to get married, I figure my bridesmaiding days are over, with the exception of Margaret, the devoted "Weddings" column reader, who was my maid of honor.
See, Margaret has a crush on her neighbor, this really cute 36-year-old. He has a crush on her, too, though neither of them has come right out and admitted it to each other.
But I figure they're destined for something great. A few months ago she called to tell me she'd spotted him lingering over the bridal pages of her newspaper one Sunday afternoon.
"Interesting reading, eh?" she said.
"Oh, I'm just glancing," he said, nervously shuffling the newsprint around. "Well, actually, you're not going to believe this, but I . . ."
And then he admitted he reads the wedding pages faithfully - to see if any of the grooms are his age or older.
My friend Margaret smiled and nodded, and then changed the subject. Her heart skipped a beat.
Beth Macy, a features department staff writer, got her circa-1948 wedding dress in a Bloomington, Ind., vintage shop - which is bridal-speak for "thrift store." Her column runs Thursdays.
by CNB