Just last month, I had the distinct honor of serving as a proud bridesmaid in my cousin’s wedding ceremony. It truly was a beautiful occasion, maintaining a refreshingly chill atmosphere throughout the entire day. Since my cousin preferred a highly personalized, do-it-yourself wedding approach, all of the major preparations and execution duties were shared amongst the bridal party and herself, consciously forgoing the expense of a professional wedding planner. The day prior to the event, as we were collectively decorating the venue space, the attending pastor arrived with his wife. The pastor himself was incredibly kind and genuinely friendly; his wife, however, presented a completely different, instantly unsettling dynamic, foreshadowing the chaos she would soon create.
She immediately took the liberty of jumping right into the planning process, confidently informing my very stressed cousin that she was unilaterally now the official wedding coordinator. She then proceeded to loudly instruct all of us bridesmaids precisely on what to do and when to execute our tasks. Because my cousin was already nearing her breaking point with anxiety, she simply allowed the woman to take over the crucial position without protest. This self-appointed coordinator instantly took issue with the personal tattoos that I have, immediately declaring her intention to completely tape them all up securely before the ceremony commenced. Fortunately, the groom happened to overhear this deeply uncomfortable conversation and swiftly intervened, stating that my tattoos were perfectly meaningful and certainly needed to remain uncovered for the celebration.
On the actual day of the beautiful wedding, I drove together with my cousin and all of our respective children to the venue location. Upon our immediate arrival, this controlling woman, who had quickly asserted dominance over the whole day, forcefully directed my cousin, my aunt, the other two bridesmaids, all three flower girls, and the two junior bridesmaids into an extremely small, totally cramped office space for dressing. It was far too small and utterly devoid of any privacy for such a large group of people to properly prepare. I managed to quickly extract my own daughter from the chaotic office and instructed her to get properly ready in the venue’s much quieter bathroom. For my own privacy, I also made the choice to put my dress on in the solitary bathroom space.
After I had successfully managed to put on my full dress, I discovered that I needed crucial assistance with zipping the back completely up, so I quickly rushed back to the crowded office space and politely asked for help. Tragically, the self-appointed wedding planner was the only person immediately available and ready to assist me with my garment. I turned my back towards her, expecting a quick, professional adjustment to the zipper. Instead of smoothly pulling the zipper tab up the back of my dress, she performed an absolutely shocking action. She suddenly unlatched my brassiere from the back, deliberately choosing to disregard my immediate need for the dress to be closed and secured.
Before I could even properly react to the brazen violation of my personal space, she calmly moved around to the front of me, stuck her entire hand directly down the neck of my dress, and then forcefully pulled the bra right off my body, taking it away from me. I was utterly stunned and incandescent with pure rage; I desperately wanted my garment returned immediately. But rather than addressing me or my distress, she then marched straight to the other women and began taking their brassieres off as well, authoritatively saying that absolutely none of us were permitted to wear them under the formal dresses. My poor, older aunt sincerely needed her support, and the resulting visible sagging was quite unfortunately obvious in many of the official photographs taken later.
When the pastor and his wife were finally leaving the venue after the ceremony, she came directly up to me for a final, bizarre interaction. She told me quite plainly that I needed to make an effort to come and visit her in the future. She then explained her perverse rationale, stating that since she had actually touched my breasts during her shocking removal of the bra, we were now inextricably bound as close friends. My immediate internal response was a firm rejection of her strange assertion. No, random lady, let me be extremely clear: we are absolutely not friends, and what you did was a monumental, nonconsensual invasion of my privacy and personal boundaries on my cousin’s wedding day.
