The Ultimate Wedding Crash
I knew my mother-in-law was difficult. She had criticized my hair, my job, and my cooking for three years. But I never expected her to try and hijack my wedding. As I stood in the bridal suite, adjusting my veil, my maid of honor burst in, looking pale. "You need to see this," she whispered. I peeked out the door and gasped. There, standing in the lobby, was my mother-in-law.
She wasn't wearing the beige pantsuit we had agreed on. She was wearing a full-length, lace-covered white bridal gown complete with a small tiara. It looked disturbingly similar to my own dress. She was telling guests that she "just wanted to feel special too" and insisting that she would walk down the aisle arm-in-arm with my husband.
"She looked me in the eye and smiled. It was a declaration of war."
I saw red. But I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I calmly walked over to the open bar and ordered a large glass of their darkest Merlot. As she was preening for a photographer she had hired herself, I walked past her. I "tripped" on the hem of my dress. The glass flew out of my hand, and a full pint of red wine splashed directly onto her chest, soaking the white lace in a permanent, blood-red stain.
The gasp from the room was audible. She shrieked like a banshee. I apologized profusely, dabbing at it with a napkin while smirking internally. She had to leave to change into borrowed clothes, missing the ceremony entirely. My husband is furious and says I humiliated his mother, but my father-in-law high-fived me at the reception. I have zero regrets.
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