David's Bridal is Responsible for the Plight of Single Women Everywhere

For every great woman that's out there, there's also one that is a complete wreck. You probably don't know which one you are either. Chances are if you're great, you believe yourself to be a cesspool of drama and insecurities. Because of this, you're likely great simply because you're aware of your bullshit and can monitor it accordingly. Just like your blood alcohol level (not coincidentally, these two correlate)!

Let's call this split a nice solid 50 / 50.

For those of you that fall in the 50% of women that are smart, independent, thinkers, decision makers, general penile threats...oooh David's Bridal just screwed another 50% you out of any hope of ever getting hitched.

David's Bridal is the hell of matrimony.

I had always been a tad curious of what this apparent Walmart of Matrimony may be. I had never had a reason to go in one. Never have I been a bridesmaid nor a bride, but this October, I am to be a bridesmaid. One of three I shall be.

I received my instructions from my friend (the bride) Jessie's bridal HQ in Colorado:

"You need to go to David's Bridal, select a floor length dress in the color 'clover'. Any one you want, I just want it to be floor length and clover".

I'm 5'2". I will look like a clover colored dildo in a floor length dress (and yes, my dildo figure will have testicles).

Easy enough. Her choice to use David's Bridal was logistically a very wise one as none of her bridesmaids are actually located in Colorado. It's simple enough to go to any location of the Matrimonious Home Depot and select a dress that can be found in any other location across the United States.

I perused the website to narrow down my selections. I selected three dresses meeting Jessie's critera. I didn't want to spend a tremendous amount of time on this task as I'd have to go on the evening on a weeknight. I sure as shit am not going to intern myself in a bridezilla fashion laboratory on a weekend.

I talked Jab into going with me on a Monday night to the Burbank location. In order to make this fun, we decided to each consume a generous helping of Bacardi.

Thusly, the ride over was a bit of a blur. As we arrived we were the only car in the parking lot. We blasted in like a liquor infused arctic wind. I am a busy woman dammit. I haven't time for shenanigans such as "waiting for a sales person" or "bridal consultant" as they call them.

I was struck in my path by a point of purchase display by the register. It contained t-shirts with verbiage such as, "Don't talk to me, I'm the groom" as well as "Bride to be". They appeared airbrushed, as though they should be a prize at a carnival in San Bernardino. As soon as I'd recovered from this mental obstacle, I continued on to where I saw some "clover" colored floor length dresses. Jab was still awestruck by the many articles of bullshittery this place contained.

"May I help you?" A "bridal consultant" asked Jab.

"Um...yes. I'm looking for a dress..."

Pause.

Hmm, a longer pause.

I continued searching for my three bridesmaid dress lotto numbers in the labrynth of taffeta and other weird fabrics I can't begin to identify.

I pictured a horrified bridal consultant, who hadn't often, come in contact with a man who was looking for a dress.

"...for my girlfriend." Jab waited his crossdressy joke out very well. The proper amount of discomfort was delivered upon the bridal consultant.

I laughed a jolly drunken laugh from three aisles of rayon away. Jab came and found me deciding between the $120 dress or $150. The economy made the decision for me, as well as my quick decision making skills due to being intoxicated. Alcohol, I owe you so much, let this be yet another one of your gifts you've bestowed upon me.

I tried it on. It looked like a shiny green bag. A shiny green bag that would be altered when, presumably, I don't become too fat prior to the wedding in October.

"I'll take it." I announced proudly as though I was Wayne Campell in Wayne's World preparing to purchase his Stratocaster.

"Wow that was really easy." The bridal consultant that had been hovering around us like a commission based helicopter said.

"Yup, I'm pretty easy." I said. Giggle to your heart's content with your own "tossing a hot dog down a hallway" joke now.

I lined up at the register / showcase of crap at the front of the store to purchase the frock. Inside the showcase I noticed a large amount of emasculating merchandise:

- Giant (I mean fucking enormous, must have weighed five pounds) faux diamond rings intertwined with wedding bands. Why? I don't know.
- Pink stuffed hearts (I believe the retail term is "plush")
- Picture frames with hearts around them.

Hearts are fucking emasculating because they look like upturned testicles. Ugh. That must be frightening to consider as a male.

If marriage is to remain a sacred institution, it should not be commercialized as a commodity like Ikea furniture. The commercialization of a relationship that is financially and emotionally binding dooms it to failure. It allows members of a society to place less value on it as it is superficially exemplified. The value of a marriage appears to no longer exist in the two individuals bound by it, but the stereotypical showmanship of "love". Love isn't a pissing contest. Unless you're into golden showers, that's your deal.

So strong, single, brilliant, goodhearted, sane women, blame your plight of singledom (assuming this is a discomfort for you) not on men, but on David's Bridal.*

*Okay, blame some of it on men and all individuals in society and the nonsense we're all allowed to get away with in terms of communication styles and the cop-outs therein.