Always the bridesmaid, never the bride?

DIARY OF A DRAMA QUEEN
By Mairéad Wilmot
A WONDERFUL thing has happened: I have been given a position of authority. That, and one of my best friend’s is getting married. Said position of authority is directly linked to this marriage, for I am a bridesmaid. How exciting for me and, em, the bride and groom, of course.

In the space of just a few months, three of those closest to me have announced their engagements.

It all started when Therese rang to say she and Donal were engaged. This caused much excitement. Then my cousin Deirdre rang to say she and her boyfriend Paul were engaged, and then my lovely friend Rita announced she was engaged to her boyfriend Sean.

Obviously, all of these weddings are incredibly important to me but I’m afraid Rita wins hands down because she has made the wise and sage decision to have me as one of her bridesmaids. What a clever girl she is.

Of course, this news was met with gasps from some quarters.

“Oh God, you do realise this means Mairead is going to have to organise the hen, don’t you?” some said to the bride-to-be.

Clearly, she had not considered this prospect and I’m quite sure a flash of fear flickered through her eyes. How dare they doubt me? I am perfectly capable of organising large-scale events. I am going to purchase a wedding notebook in which I will keep notes and jot down ideas and so on and so forth, which is what organised people do.

Already, bride number one Therese has given me some helpful hints on what I need to do. I need to get a list apparently, a list of people Rita wants at her hen party, and then I must contact them. If I had my wedding notebook at the time, I would have jotted that detail down. Thankfully, my mind works like a super-computer and I remember everything.

Clearly, I am treating this bridesmaid position with great reverence.

But I am not going to lie: these three weddings, in particular, have caused me a great deal of woe.

As I said to dear Papa when bride-tobe Rita came to visit one day, I said: “Dad, obviously I’ve been left on the shelf! Left on the shelf! I’ll probably end up living with you and mother until I’m ...”

Thinking back, he didn’t spring to my defence and deny this was a possibility. Hmmmm, I’d better not be left on the shelf.

It was also probably not the best idea to recount that particular tale to my significant other, who said: “Yeah, you should really not be saying that to me.”

“Why should I not be saying that to you?” I asked, quite matter-of-factly.

“Well, because I’m your boyfriend and, you know, it’s … er, just probably not something that, er, yeah … you know.”

“Whatever,” I said. “I’m going to be left on the shelf like an old maid – an old maid.”

“Oh God,” he said. And, actually, another thing: I can’t be the fat bridesmaid. That is just not an option. I’m going to have to start ‘Operation I Can’t Be the Fat Bridesmaid’ in mere months. I’m really not very good at not being fat so I must channel my inner Kate Moss and lose like, em, we’ll set the bar high ... so I’ll say ten stone. Yes, I need to lose ten stone before the wedding.

I’ll surely be so skinny they won’t even see me walking down the aisle. People at the church will say: “Gosh, I thought Rita was having Mairead as one of her bridesmaids … obviously not, because she isn’t here.”

And I’ll say: “Oh no, I am here, I’m just sooooo skinny that none of you can see me.”

Yes, that is definitely going to happen. Cough, cough.