The Rice Cakes of Wedding Stuff…Tasteless.

As a recently engaged woman, I spend most of my time on The Knot looking at gowns and flower arrangements. Or calling venues to get price quotes. And calling Jason in from other rooms to pick boutonnieres.

Too bad I’m not getting married for another 3 years. Or 1232 days. Or 1231 days and 20 hours (so I have a time for the ceremony, what of it?)

I’m in the process of watching every episode of Say Yes to the Dress and Whose Wedding is it Anyway that’s available on Netflix. I love the lights and the sibling-rivalry fueled by jealousy. The gay designers and the catering are equally thrilling.

But one thing casts a dark cloud over the happiness.
That cloud is Pnina Tornai.

If you have never seen a Pnina Tornai wedding dress, count yourself lucky. They are an affront to weddings. Take a normal gown. Ask a cougar or other large feline to shred it. Make the torso of the dress completely shear. Add a hoop skirt and then vomit quietly in the corner while weeping. This woman should be ashamed for asking 9K for one of these monstrosities.

She’s everywhere. No where is safe. Is it so much to ask that I not have to see the brides belly button?

I have a similar bone to pick with tea length bridesmaids dresses. If an eighth grader can wear it to junior high graduation, it’s not appropriate for a wedding.

Of course, I’m going to have bigger issues than the length of a dress on my wedding day.
Jason comes from a huge family; 18 aunts and uncles big. And when your family is this big, you get to pick and choose the ones you like and only ever talk to them. While this works at Christmas, weddings are a different story. We have been invited to three weddings in the past 18 months. In each case we heard about it by word of mouth, we were never formally invited by the bride or groom. This seems to be a technicality in my new family. Which means that my quest for a small, intimate, romantic wedding may be marred by people we don’t know or, more importantly, don’t like. Take Jason’s aunt for example, the one who asked how many Cracker Jack boxes he went through before he found the ring (yeah. ouch). Or the uncle whose children terrorize anyone they come into contact with. Or the cousin who threw a rock at Jason (they were twelve. He’s still bitter).

Nothing worth having is easy I guess. Maybe that explains severely ugly designer gowns.

NOT found in the bottom of a Cracker Jack box.


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