MADELEINE: Last night – just like many other nights – I had one of two wedding nightmares. Before I met my fiancé I had a LONG bout of insanity and dated an Italian guy from Brooklyn whose family owns a very successful funeral home business. Let’s call him Gino. This part is not the nightmare — it’s all horrifyingly true.
The nightmare goes one of two ways: Gino kidnaps either me or my fiancé the day before the wedding and, a) forces me to eat trays of lasagna so that I’m too fat to fit into my wedding gown, and then drags me to his church to marry him or b) locks Mitch in a casket and I spend my wedding day trying to locate Mitch in a field of sealed caskets before he suffers an untimely death.
My second “favorite” nightmare begins on my wedding day with my wedding planner telling me that my florist has arrived. I skip into the reception room to get a first look at my no-doubt stunning centerpieces. But what I find is Ricardo, the florist, standing next to an enormous cluster of rainbow-colored balloons.
“I decided to opt for something more creative,” Ricardo says to me. “Don’t you love it?”
I look out to a sea of table arrangements, each with a giant silver flashing sign that reads “Happy Wedding Mitch and Madeleine.” At this point, the dancers in green and purple feathered outfits drop from the ceiling on swings, others come out from hidden doors wielding batons, and others are on stilts, eating fire. The organ music kicks in, backed by steel drums.
The dream generally ends with me popping the balloons and having a full blown melt down.