I have a roommate who I call No Tits because she broke my balls from the jump when she first moved in (having fits over tablecloths, not having boundaries, criticizing my belongings and just generally being a rude entitled frizzy haired wench). Surprisingly, someone moved in after her who was worse. The new roommate who moved in, I refer to as the premenstrual-dysphoric-disorder-riddled-Jihadist-Macedonian-with-borderline (Jihad for short) has become extremely difficult to live with, thus has rendered No Tits and I, buddies. (Jihad actually replaced the former roommate who was an obsessive-compulsive-anorexic-vegan-germaphobic-violinist-singer). At any rate, the other day, the Jihadist and I had it out. It was a short burst of an argument that escalated very quickly, ending with me calling her a twat. I haven’t been that proud of moment in a while. As a result, No Tits and I have a new found almost friendship, and subsequently I was subjected to a long-winded story about the pre-matrimonial celebration of some other bird, whom I imagine is also from Queens. (how revolting).
No Tits informed me that she would be partaking in her best friend’s wedding as an “unofficial bridesmaid.” It is not clear why she was given the less than desirable title of an un-thing. I suspect that the bride had too many candidates to choose from and did not want to create a hierarchy or pit members of the would-be bridal party against each other. It’s as if she is saying, “the matching dress thing I can do without, but I still need someone to do all the pre-wedding party stuff, so we’ll have to call her something pretty close to bridesmaid.” So, No Tits doesn’t get a real title. She does all the work without the glory.
Bridesmaids usually are kind of strange looking with their weird taffeta dresses and goofy up-do’s. I often wonder what happens to them, because you know what they say; once a bridesmaid . . . . she’ll probably get an abortion and move to Reno . . .(and I imagine she goes on to live a sad, loveless life as an alcoholic residing in some small town with an old powder blue Chevy Malibu on blocks in the front yard, sad and forgotten about, like the love she'd always wished she were pretty enough to know).
No Tits planned the engagement party, the bridal shower and the bachelorette party. Lack of being blessed well endowed aside, she is doing a service to her friend out of love and she informed me that the other bitches are chiming in, because they don’t like her having a position of power (however unofficial it may be). They drop comments. They dis her planning. They walked out of one event because it wasn’t open bar, leaving No Tits with a $300 alcohol tab, which she paid. Proper etiquette dictates that the family of the bride should host the shower. According to Emily Post, “it is not within the responsibilities of the bridal shower to do so, although they can if they want.” Also, I’m pretty sure the maid of honor shouldn’t be doing all three events i.e. everything.
Because of the mother’s absence, the other fraulines should have stepped up. Instead they criticized the almost bridesmaid who is handling all three events. Poor No Tits. I can’t believe I am feeling compassion for someone who caused me much grief in the beginning of our relationship. She is grinning and bearing it for her friend. No Tits is a bigger person than me, because I wouldn’t have lasted through the first half of the not open bar engagement party as an unofficial bridesmaid. I’da been all “I don’t think so sluts.” Not because of lack of booze, but because these people have no class.
The problem with this unofficial bridal party is that every female should be working together to pick up the slack to make the celebration happen, where the mother clearly has dropped the ball. But instead, they are being outright rude and entitled. Maybe they’re pissed they weren’t bridesmaids.
I got all this information in the kitchen, which is where N.T. and I usually converse. At the end of her story, she divulged that she will be wearing a very low cut dress for the bachelorette party, but that it didn’t matter because she has no tits. Life does take strange twists and turns, but I honestly found my way around from really not getting along with this roommate, whom admittedly, I gave a terrible nickname, to cheering her on in her battle over the senseless gaggle of nit-picking hens.