I’m Having a Fancy Wedding, Dammit

Since I went and got myself engaged, I’m finding that all anyone these days wants to talk about is how to have a low-budget, recession-friendly wedding.  Dresses made of repurposed newspaper and such.

You know what? If I want to have a nice wedding, I’m doing it. It’s MY special day and nothing you holier-than-thou harpies can say is gonna change my mind.

If I want a wedding dress made of the finest silk and handsewn by the reanimated corpse of Christian Dior, you can’t stop me. You only get married once! It’s not selfish! One hundred live hamsters, all dressed like tiny butlers, made to float around in a pool-sized champagne fountain filled with Armond de Brignac, each in its own tiny gondola made of the finest agarwood, all swinging firefly-lit lanterns from their tiny little paws. I’m the fucking BRIDE, you assholes.

Let’s talk about selfish. Do you know how many of my friends and family are making a stink about us having a destination wedding in Dubai? ALL OF THEM. It’s like “oh, Meg, we really can’t afford all that right now. Oh, Meg, I just had to take out a second mortgage on my house.” Well, jerks, if you really cared about me at all, you’d take out a third. But it’s clear that you do not.

Listen, I’m a good person. I donate to charity. I recycle. I care. But this is important, you guys. When else am I going to have a day, just one day, when it’s all about me?

And my fiancé, I guess.

Sent from my iPhone

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