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Bridesmaid black-out

March 10, 2011

It started innocently enough. An appointment with my five bridesmaids for them to try on dresses, get their measurements taken and put down deposits. It all went off without a hitch. The girls decided which dresses they’d wear easily, and we were in and out of the packed bridal shop within an hour—just in time for happy hour.

We decided to grab drinks at the venue where my bridal shower will be held—a gorgeous lakeside restaurant with a cozy bar area. And $5 double martinis. Two each later, we were all feeling a little giddy and headed back to my house to hang out the rest of the night.

As I cooked dinner with my friend, my maid of honor got progressively drunker, swigging from a large bottle of vodka. By dinnertime, she was black-out drunk, speaking a language similar to that of Ralphie in the movie A Christmas Story, when he’s beating up bully Scut Farkus.

One of my bridesmaids and I surreptitiously hid her bottle (probably a little too late, as it only had about two drinks’ worth left in it) before beginning a board game. As we played, my MOH watched, frequently erupting into Tourette Syndrome-like outbursts.

“Benches, bitches!” she slurred, her eyes half closed. “You need to sit in benches!”

“Let me sheeeee it! Let me sheeee it! She said my dad was shtaring at her butt, but he washn’t. I’ll never forget it!

“She ruined my life! I blame her! Ish all er fault.”

If filmed, it could have actually been an effective anti-drinking PSA for teens.

Out of nowhere, she began yelling at one of the other bridesmaids about failing to return her calls and ignoring her advice about how to deal with a difficult relationship. My poor bridesmaid, caught completely off guard, was silent throughout her tirade, then retreated to the bathroom for an hour before driving home.

We are all used to my MOH getting drunk—she’s usually the first one at parties to be speaking too loudly or saying something out of line. But it’s rare she gets this out of control. The next morning, it occurred to me that this could be a major issue. Would she be screaming at a relative during my bridal shower after pounding down some spiked punch, getting kicked out of the club at my bachelorette party or slurring through her speech during our reception?

I called another bridesmaid in a panic, who assured me that she and the other bridesmaids wouldn’t let that happen. We made a pact that if either of us saw her drinking too quickly in the future, we’d dilute her vodka with water—or just replace it altogether. It’s a shame that I have to do that, but, sadly, she doesn’t care enough to watch herself. I’m a little bummed and wish I’d realized this before choosing my MOH.

Soon after, she called to apologize, admit she’s the “worst maid of honor ever” and offer to make me a gourmet dinner as a peace offering.

I’m a little calmer now, but you can bet I’ll be keeping an eye on her drinks in the future and employing some 007 action when needed. The name’s Bride. Freaked-out Bride.

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