Free Autobiography of a Fat Bride by Laurie Notaro Page A

Is the chicken going to be fatty? Do I really need to shave or can I wear tights instead of hose? How much am I allowed to eat? Do I need to wear a girdle? How can I kiss my boyfriend without turning him into a transvestite? Can I light the candles without spilling wax on myself or setting my hair on fire? Is it too late to have liposuction on my chin? Have I turned into one of those beasts that have nothing to talk about but their wedding? What if I have to take the Big Poo?
    Have all of the bridesmaids gotten their dresses altered? Will people who didn’t RSVP show up anyway? Does anyone know how to complete a bow tie? Do I need a dowry? Will he marry me without one? What the hell is a dowry? Does it involve livestock? My family knows nothing about livestock or animal husbandry. How about my dog? Can she take the place of livestock in the dowry? Can I use my bra for the “something old” bit? Why did I allow my mother to buy the garter? It has
feathers
on it and a bell. Do I really have a mustache or is it just my bathroom light? Do I look like a sausage in my dress? If anyone throws rice, I know it’s going to hit me in the eye and I’ll have to keep that eye closed for the rest of the wedding, or make sure I bring an eye patch. Have I remembered
Modern Bride
’s three
C
’s: Consideration, Communication, and Compromise?
    Am I still mad at her or should I snub her at the reception? I wonder if he is bringing that awful girl? What if I fall down? Is anyone going to do the “I object!” thing or will they hold their peace? Will the groomsmen tape the words “Help Me!” on the bottom of the groom’s shoes? I’ll have nothing to talk about when this whole thing is over. Did I need to ask the Pope for permission? I forgot to ask the Pope for permission. Is it my religion that steps on the glass? What kind of glass? Does it have to be holy glass? Where do you get holy glass? Can I just use a lowball? I hope no one plays “My Love Does It Good.” Do I have to admit to any felonies now?
    After the reception, will my mother have to kick an unconscious person, found lying under one of the tables, repeatedly, screaming, “Young man, it is time to go home!
Where are your friends?
” What happens when he finally sees me naked with the lights on? God, I’ll have to unscrew every lightbulb from now until he gets Alzheimer’s and forgets what women are supposed to look like. Did I give the Reverend the right directions and is she bringing a date? Please don’t let it be the guy swathed in army green swatting at imaginary flies or the junkie with the eye patch. If it is the junkie, though, maybe I can borrow the patch temporarily if I am maimed by the unexpected rice. What if I fart by accident? What if I fart in front of everyone? Did I invite that person? I think I forgot to invite that person. Oh God. I forgot to invite that person. What if someone gets high in the parking lot and my mother sees him? Will she call the police? Of course she’d call the police. She’s my mother.
    Oh my God.
    Oh my God.
    Eleven days.
    I’m a Dead Bride Walking.

“If You Get Divorced Within a Year, You Owe Your Father $35.78 a Dinner Times Two Hundred”: Words of Wisdom on My Wedding Day

    T he morning of her wedding, there are some things that a bride is better off not knowing.
    Really, it’s true. You can exhaust yourself becoming prepared, tending to every minute detail, taking the proactive stance against any little, tiny thing that may possibly go wrong. But it’s useless.
    Because there is no precaution against fate.
    And it’s better when a bride doesn’t know that. When she doesn’t know that, at any second, forces she cannot understand, much less control, will swoop down from the heavens and kick her off-white, Italian-satin ass six ways from Sunday while the photographer is taking her picture at the same time.
    I woke up on the morning of my wedding and embarked on my Preventative Measures Plan. If there was anything