Rites revenge

My mother hijacked my wedding, and my husband and I now want a "do-over" in Vegas with an Elvis impersonator. Is that so wrong?

By Cary Tennis

Jul 23, 2002 |

Dear Cary,

My husband and I have been together for 10 years, and in December we'll have been married for four. Everything with our marriage is fantastic, from the way we relate to one another to the sex. I look at the world careening out of whack around me and feel like the luckiest girl alive, knowing I'm his wife.

It's the wedding that's still killing me. A few days ago, I woke up grinding my teeth at some horrible memory of the event. The reason it still pains me is because it was a blatant demonstration of my mother stomping all over my will and my wishes in a public arena. In front of my friends. On what was supposed to be a sacred day for my husband and me.

I am a fairly unconventional chick who wanted a funky but mostly conventional if small wedding. My girlfriends were to stand by me in comfortable yet stylish vintage dresses; the guys would wear suits. My husband and I planned to write our own vows. I wanted to enter to Nina Simone's "My Baby Just Cares for Me." And for the reception, we wanted hors d'oeuvres, cocktails, a mellow trio of some sort. Basically, we wanted a nice party. Well, I didn't get it.

The problem was my very Catholic, domineering mother. I live in Seattle, my husband in Eugene, Ore., and we married in Chicago, where our families live. My mother offered to organize things on the Chicago end for us, and we gladly accepted. Big mistake. She hijacked the entire affair.

First, she bought expensive velvet bridesmaid dresses because "they needed to match." I asked her to take them back; she said they were nonreturnable. Then she charged my friends. Because of this one of my closest friends couldn't afford to be in my wedding party. Nina Simone was banned because it was "club music." (My mother is 70.) The reception was an alcohol-free rubber-chicken affair. She hired a very bad DJ who played disco medleys. We couldn't write our own vows, even though I asked the priest if it was possible. Our photos sucked. I didn't know most of the people she invited. She refused to dance with me because "it wasn't proper." At the end of the day, the only thing I had control over was the dress I wore, and worst of all, guess who paid for the entire thing? Me.

I just found out from my sister that she spoke to everyone, from the priest to the florist, and prepped them as to what she wanted in order to ensure the wedding was "appropriate." She even went so far as to order a throwing bouquet when I told her I didn't want to toss one. "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" was played. I was horrified. But enough with the bitching. Here's my dilemma.

Next year is our fifth anniversary as well as the year my husband finishes his internship and gets ready to defend his dissertation. We've decided to renew our vows, since we've been living 300 miles apart for all these years. No, let me be honest -- this isn't a vow renewal. It's a freaking do-over.

This time we're doing it right: We're going to Vegas, finding an Elvis to do the deed, getting a lounge singer -- or maybe Elvis? -- to croon Nina for us and getting blotto while enjoying cheap lobster and shrimp. It's all symbolic, and my husband pretty much wants to do it to exorcise the bad memories. All of our friends have signed on for the venture a year out, and my man plans on inviting his parents. I kind of have to invite Ma, since the in-laws are going to tell her anyway. And my mother is bound to ask why we're doing this. Should I tell her the truth -- that I'm still angry at her for spending $10,000 of my savings on the kind of wedding I never in a million years wanted? Or should I hold my tongue because she's 70, and I should have known better in the first place than to ask her to help me, her very different daughter, plan one of the most important days of my life?

A Robbed Bride

Dear Robbery Victim,

I hope that one day, after your Vegas do-over has helped you get the bad taste out of your mouth, that you can laugh heartily about that first wedding. I can well understand your distress, because you're the one it happened to, and you're entitled to grind your teeth about it, as long as you tell your dentist. But I must say your description is hilarious in a kind of Hollywood farcical way. You're saying most of the guests you didn't even know? She bought velvet bridesmaids dresses and made them pay for them, eliminating one of your dearest friends in the process? This is movie stuff. I hope that one day when you've gotten over it -- it shouldn't take you more than 50 years or so -- you can laugh, too.

Here's what I think you should do: I don't think you should tell your mother how badly she botched things or how angry you still are. Nothing good could come of that. And I do think you should invite her. The big problem is how you explain what you're doing. That's where your relationship with your mother becomes crucial.

Theoretically, it should be possible for a daughter who has been so sorely abused to simply tell her mother, "Mother, I love you dearly, and though it might seem a little crazy to you, my husband and I are throwing a big party in Vegas to celebrate our five years of marriage. I sincerely hope you can attend. But don't touch a goddamn thing or I'll break your brittle 70-year-old arms like chopsticks." But in practice, certain things are harder to say than they ought to be.

Nevertheless, when she arrives, try to engage her in the fun. Just don't leave her alone with a telephone and a checkbook for even a minute. She might call the local diocese and arrange for a priest. Which would be weird, because you're the one trying to perform an exorcism. It could cause a Manichaean battle: Elvis fist-fighting the pope among slot machines and showgirls in peacock feathers. Who would win? Let's hope, in this case, it's Elvis.

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