An Open Letter to My Brother’s Fiancee — Whose Bridal Shower I Do Not Want to Attend

Hi Jess,

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my note. I realize you have a very busy and stressful schedule right now. I can’t believe the wedding is only 27 months away!!

I see from Instagram that you’ve now purchased and worn 13 different white outfits for a variety of bridal occasions (!!). Your commitment to outfit changes at your Bachelorette party, in Cabo, is truly an inspiration.

And I get it. I once had to change clothes twice in one day because I ordered too much alfredo sauce on my 10:00am gnocchi snack and kept gumming it while distracted by that episode of Grey’s Anatomy where Burke (spoiler alert!) left a towel in that woman.

Is that what happened to you?

Anyway, I’m writing to tell you that I’m actually viscerally hungover right now and the thought of taking two trains and a bus to watch your sister (genetically), and your sister (gamma beta latte), make jokes about your love of brownies with sprinkles and how big of a Jets fan Mitch is, makes me want to self-immolate.

See, in my community, when you’re asked to do something on a Sunday before High Noon, there’s an expectation of butter, vodka and breakfast meats. And I understand you’re #shreddingforthewedding (which, btw, I TOTALLY support your public espousing of, despite my history with diet pills).

So, I know there really won’t be anything available to soak up the whipped cream vodka shots I shame took before giving a blow job to a friend of friend in a Chipotle bathroom nary 4 hours before my alarm went off this morning.

Also, what would I wear? Realistically, I have one dress that fits me right now. It’s functionally a sack that Nordstrom’s sold me as a “caftan”. You’re probably not familiar, but “caftans” are ways for people like me to buy plus size clothing without actually having to load the URL (#lifehack).

Anyway, my sack has rapidly become the covering I throw on as I race out of the apartment to buy more snapple and cigarettes. Seriously, I keep it by my keys in my foyer. I’m kidding. I don’t have a foyer. Anyway, the bodega sack I’d have to wear doesn’t feel like quite the right garment for the 16th most special day of your engagement.

Also, I didn’t get you a gift. Not because I don’t care, but because everything on your registry is either $400+, or a framed photograph of Marilyn Monroe and Babe Ruth (and those were all swiped!). I think we both know we’re not close enough for me to go off registry without accidentally being shady.

And I know, without me, you’ll be one ribbon short of the perfect shower hat. And for that, I truly am sorry. But, I want you to know that all of my ribbons are covered in semen or tears (neither mine!), so you really wouldn’t want them on your head anyway. I’m kidding, I don’t own ribbon.

And I feel the need to say, it’s not you, or your lovely Aunt Shannon. Honestly, I think you’re great. And, knowing I’ll certainly be seated at a table with Aunt Shannon and six other obscure invitees of unknown origin at a table in the back, I think we’ll probably have a lot of to talk about! I’ve never met her, but I know you find it so fun that we both have seen The Office, and that she doesn’t get along with her sister, either. Seriously, I’m very sad to miss this and look forward to sneaking her w33d at the reception.

And please, don’t take this as an issue with the institution of marriage or any of your silly little affectations (which are completely dictated by the wedding-industrial complex). If I were in a different headspace, I’m sure I would absolutely love to watch your pregnant friends make not funny, and thinly veiled, jokes about my brother’s penis in front of my grandmother.

So, anyway. I guess that’s it for me. Love to the fam!! Really, couldn’t be more excited to hang with everyone at the wedding, at which they will not only be serving Spritzers and oppressively small quiche.