My most embarrassing moment wasn’t when my best friend asked me to be a bridesmaid. I knew she loved all things pink and frilly, but it was her day; I’d wear whatever cupcake-colored dress required.
My most embarrassing moment also wasn’t when she asked the wife of her fiancée’s best man, a woman she didn’t know very well, to be her Maid of Honor, just so the wife and the husband could walk down the aisle together. Although pretty humbled, I understood the logistics.
And it wasn’t when I realized I was a size 18 in a party of size four bridesmaids. At the bridal shop–in a moment of shame–I ordered my dress in a size 14, but I figured I could diet myself down to fit into it.
It wasn’t when my best friend hounded me to stay on my diet, threatening dismemberment if I didn’t fit into my frilly pink dress by her wedding day. I understood her fear.
It wasn’t when, on the day of the final fitting (although I had darn near starved myself) the dress was still too tight. The seamstress merely took the shawl I was to wear about my shoulders–like the other bridesmaids–and used it to extend the dress in the back. I was minus one shawl afterward, but at least my dress fit.
It wasn’t at the rehearsal dinner, when the usher with whom I was paired to walk down the aisle declared loudly that he only dated “thin chicks.” He’d only said such a thing because he was terrified that someone might think he and I were a couple.
It wasn’t when the bride, seeing that I was shawless during our dress rehearsal, ordered the other bridesmaids to ditch their shawls as well, so we’d all match. I deserved the dirty looks I got from my fellow bridesmaids.
It wasn’t when, on the day of the wedding, my usher got drunk in the limo on the way to the church and–beer goggles firmly in place–groped my thigh. “I know you never had a guy like me before,” he slurred. “So here’s your chance. We‘ll do the wedding thing, but I say we ditch after, and you meet me around back, ‘kay?”
Yes, I was embarrassed then, but...
My most embarrassing moment was when I walked down the aisle alone, in a stained, torn, frilly dress, because my usher had vomited on me and grabbed my sleeve right before he passed out in the backseat of the limo. But I wasn’t embarrassed just for me. The usher was the bride’s brother.
I felt so bad for my best friend.