As you may or may not remember, my friend Jemima is getting married in June. She is the first of my friends to walk down the aisle, and she is also providing me with my Inaugural Bridesmaid's Experience (henceforth referred to as IBE, not to be confused with IBS.) Luckily, the dresses she has chosen for the bridal party are floor-length, simple, a beautiful champagne color, and made from shantung silk. This therefore means that Jemima and I will not be terminating our friendship anytime soon, not least because she is just HANDING to me, on a plate, a bonafide reason to buy a new pair of gold strappy shoes. Well played, Jemima. If it doesn't work out with your fiance, I will marry you.
While Jemima is, for all intents and purposes*, normally a very calm and collected kind of girl, yesterday I received the following e-mail (subject line: Panic Moment), which made me laugh so much that I begged her to let me share it with the Internet. And she said yes. Because otherwise she knows I am totally going to break the No Strippers At The Bachelorette Party rule and find a toothless 70-year-old redneck with a mullet to dress up in a fireman's uniform and gyrate to "Get It On." Thus:
"My sister just sent me the final guest list to approve because she is starting the invitation calligraphy TONIGHT! Sweet Cracker Sandwich! I’m getting married! All of a sudden, it’s like I’m going to be married to someone for the rest of my life and I can’t just suddenly go on a yacht trip around Italy with my crazy friend in London and slinky dance with strange men in glitzy cliffside bars anymore. And I can’t up and move to Singapore because they sell cheap days of the week underpants and Sex and the City bootlegs just because I happen to feel like it. And I should feel guilty for checking out hot men in my rearview mirror! I am no longer allowed to hope, hope, hope that Joaquin Phoenix comes to Charleston and I see him when I’m wearing my skinny jeans, because even if he does and the skinny jeans fit, I still can’t DO anything about it. And I can’t wallow in my den of squalor for two entire weeks eating fudgesicles for dinner in front of crap TV because SOMEONE ELSE WILL BE THERE! FOREVER!"
* We just had a huge disagreement about this phrase in the office. I insisted that it was "for all intents and purposes," while Co-worker Andrew claimed that no, it was "for all intensive purposes." Nice Canadian Damian, however, admitted that he's always said "for all intense purposes." I think you will agree that I am OBVIOUSLY RIGHT. Right?