Three Strikes

I knew I hated this wedding the minute I laid eyes on the first online set of photos documenting it. Hate. All of it. In a big way. It wasn't until album 3 (of 3), however, that I decided it was egregious enough to post about. After all, we at WB don't like to waste our posts on only lukewarm offenses: if we have nothing bad (or nothing exceptionally wonderful) to say, we prefer saying nothing at all. I wasn't sure, at first, that I had anything SO bad to say. Now I'm sure (and how could I not be?)

So, here are the bridesmaids and their gowns:


I think it's clear that I disagree with this gaudy-that-borders-on-tacky choice. I don't like the jewels on the few girls who are wearing them. I like that the dresses are short and tailored to each maid, but I don't like much else about them.

Still, with the flowers (only poorly showcased here), things could be worse.

And together, it made for a sort of nice effect.

But then there was this:

x2.

TWO matrons of honour in TWO atrocious attempts at modern-ancient Grecian numbers in a hideously mismatched colour and fabric? TWO floor-length disasters in chiffon? Wow.

And then there was my prom date:


and again:

I only wish you could see his face and all eight of his chins. I no longer feel so bad about losing touch with him 9 years ago.

I decided recently that I deal well with young people (under 10), old people (over 70) and animals (mostly dogs). Everyone in between, I don't really care for. The flower-girl at this reception, though she matched with no one, melted my heart with her dance skills.

And thank God she was there to save the sinking ship. 20 years from now, when planning her own wedding, she'll look back at these photos gratefully as a reminder of what NOT to do.

Then she'll hide and/or burn them all.