Margie elbowed through the clot of guests gathered in the narthex and stumbled out into the blinding June afternoon.  After a few cleansing breaths, she opened her notebook to review her checklists.  She had dealt with her fair share of demanding brides in the past, but this one took the cake. 


She thumbed out a text to the caterer reminding them that there would be hell to pay if they forgot the topper for the groom’s cake.  Dropping the phone back into her pocket, she scanned a checklist but the words swam together as her vision doubled.  Margie rubbed her eyes and reminded herself that in just a few hours she could snag a glass of champagne at the reception and give a silent toast to another wedding planned and executed.  Two glasses would probably be in order, actually.

She shuddered as she remembered the bride yelling, practically snarling, at her bridesmaids to fix her hair, button her dress, paint her nails and half dozen other such orders.  Margie had tried to defuse the situation as best as she could, but the bride would not be calmed.  The dressing room was a disaster as the bride roiled like a typhoon. 

Feeling dizzy, Margie walked to a parked car and leaned against the door.  The unseasonably warm day combined with the stress of the job must have raised her blood pressure.  She set her notebook on the hood of the car and wiped her brow. 

She thought that the bride’s blood sugar might have crashed; she’d seen it happen before.  Margie bought a juice from the vending machine and offered it to the bride.  Then . . .

Something had happened.  Why couldn’t she remember? 

A car pulled into the parking lot.  Sunlight reflected off the windshield into Margie’s eyes.  She lifted her arm to block the glare and that’s when she saw the blood.  Saw the jagged wound. 

She remembered.

The bride bit her.  The bitch grabbed her arm and bit her.  Margie had been so stunned that she didn’t even scream.  She just turned, walked out of the room, through the sanctuary and outside. 

She was outside.  What was she doing outside?  She should be telling the ushers to take their places. 

A man stepped out of a car and ran his hands down the front of his suit.  Margie watched him, aware of an unfamiliar clenching deep in her gut.  She pushed herself off the car and took a step toward the man.  She was sure she could smell him.  Not his cologne, but something else.  Something deeper. 

Margie’s legs were stiff; her feet dragged across the asphalt as she walked to the man.  She needed to ask him a question.  She didn’t know how, but she was sure he had what she needed. 

Just like a bridezilla to drag everyone down into her own private hell.  She’s not happy unless the whole wedding party is screaming and crying around her.  Good thing the groom is already brain-dead.

Six zombies down, six to go.  I hope you guys know that I would be doing this even if I didn’t have a blog.  It’s embarrassing how happy these zombies make me.

See the whole gang here.

44 thoughts on “bridezilla

  1. And THANK YOU for giving her realistic body proportions! I am so sick of zombies being depicted in the media as scrawny little waifs. Reality Check, world! Zombies can be full-figured and beautiful too!

  2. “It’s embarrassing how happy these zombies make me.”

    Well said, my friend. Yesterday, I caught myself thinking “tomorrow is zombie day! tomorrow is zombie day!” It’s embarrassing how happy your zombies make me.

  3. ahhh i love zombie day. due to feeling like a zombie for a week and a half, I had forgotten. But I am so glad I remembered and came here.
    I love your zombies.
    I think you need to have a zombie party for them at years end and write that story! Who knows, some of them may find true love!

  4. How I do so look forward the Xomby Day (I like my new trendy spelling better- puts me ahead of the pack)!!!

    Love the ‘clot of guests’, plus “The dressing room was a disaster as the bride roiled like a typhoon.”

    You don’t see much ‘roiling’ nowadays, not like in the old days…’tis a shame, too. Roiling deserves itself a comeback.

    VOTING is still open for Amy’s May xomby story in the Fat Jerry Awards thing at:

    • I like “xomby”! There’ aren’t enough “x” words out there. “Roiling” just came to me, don’t know why. You’re right, I think a comeback is in order.
      Thanks, Spectra!

    • Hey, I don’t know what you heard, but those people deserved it. They were gettin’ on my nerves and you don’t get on the bride’s nerves, dammit!

    • I love that you love them.
      I was actually thinking about giving them away at the end of the year to some of my zombie lovin’ pals. You could be on the list if you play your cards right.

  5. whoa Great post…..started to love zombies now….anD this lines mark on my head..”Cake!”,..”Six zombies down, six to go.”….
    LOVE it…

  6. You’ve written the perfect script for a “Bridezillas” episode. None of this “ooh, she’s yelling at everyone” drama – LAME! You ain’t seen drama til the bride starts eating the wedding party.

  7. Pingback: You like me! You really like me! | Let me ask you this…

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