I have worked with my mother on several occasions. As her assistant in the Bridal Biz, I found Drema’s withering glares and extreme impatience to be more than I could handle. So I quit. As co-coordinator of fashion shows at the local shopping mall, I realized that my go-with-the-flow, see what happens next attitude did not mesh with Mom’s manic level of organization and micromanaging. So I quit. When I left my mother’s employ I was, on both occasions, happily and gratefully replaced by a pair of strictly organized, hyper-focused college –aged sisters whose give-and-take-charge personalities were much more compatible with my mother’s own Dictator-esque manner of management.

So when Mom asked me earlier this week to help her coordinate an upcoming wedding, I panicked. “Is Lauren out of town that weekend?” I asked, referring to her Bridal Assistant. Drema reminded me that this wedding was on the same day as Lauren’s own bridal shower. “Right. So I guess Jenn (Mom’s fashion show cohort and Lauren’s younger sis) will be with Lauren that day.” SIIGGGHHHHHH. “Sure.” I conceded. “I’ll do it. But I wanna get paid whatever you normally pay them. Even if I do suck more than they do at taking your orders.” Okay, I left that last part off, but I was thinkin it!

Upon accepting the job, I began negotiating my one-day contract. And I mean ONE DAY. I was not going to attend any pre-wedding meetings with The Bride. Mom would not give The Bride my home/work/cell phone numbers. I was not going to wear a head-set/microphone combo of any sort the day of the wedding (not that she had ever used anything technological like that before, but who knows what Lauren has thrown into the mix since I left!!). No name tags (I just hate them as a rule). Drema would not discuss with me any details of the wedding before the day of –except the night before as to the time I was to be there for the wedding. I was not going to attend the rehearsal. Surprisingly, Mom agreed to all of my demands. Then she presented me with the portfolio of the wedding.

Alarms, bells, sirens, and heart palpitations set in. Damn. I should have added the codicil that if The Bride turned out to be someone wretched, I could be excused from my duties. Holy Blushing Bride, I HATE this girl like Miley Cyrus hates Perez Hilton. She is, by all accounts a very sweet and charming girl. I just don’t like her. Which is my prerogative as a woman? I can hate another female simply because I feel like it.

Luckily, the wedding isn’t until August. Whether a rant about how I will vow to never again (yet again)work for/with my mother or about The Bride herself I am sure I will have an interesting tale to tell about that day!! Siigggghhhhhh…