Sequel Mondays

bridezilla in training

Bride Elect: Evolution of a Bridezilla

Chapter Nineteen—Groomzilla?


I am not sure if it was the outfit, or just the whole momentum of planning a wedding, but I noticed a change in Palucid. He had moments when he wasn’t a very good bridezilla whisperer. In fact, there were times where he was a proper groomzilla. Granted, he carefully selected his battles, and wouldn’t just freak out over trifling matters. However, when he chose to, he made for an impressive groomzilla.


My first glimpse was his whole freak-out over my considering to accessorize with pearl jewellery. He was resolute—no pearls what-so-ever. End. Of. Story. At the time, his ‘stand’ didn’t really come off as a ‘Groomzilla’. In hindsight, I see it, now as perhaps the beginning. During the whole outfit shopping, Palucid was the consummate “good sport”. He tried on clothes—in some cases beyond his usual comfort zone of style—and never once grumbled. Then again, clothes don’t really matter to Palucid as much as other things.


Food was something that really mattered to Palucid. He liked food when it tasted good. He had passionate views about food. I liked food, I liked cooking and baking for someone who liked food. This was one area where we rarely had any disagreement: rarely. Palucid, unlike many people out there, could care less for poultry. He has all but given up poultry due to the poultry allergies that plague me. He never saw it as any great loss. In fact, he would often scout out restaurants for me to ensure there were no airborne allergens.  


When it comes to wedding banquets, chicken is something of a staple. I have been to many weddings where I had to send back my plate in exchange for some hastily prepared, pasta “vegetarian” dish. While I am not a “fussy eater”, I was pretty adamant that my wedding guests should have choices more dynamic than chicken, chicken, or rethermalized fettuccine alfredo. Sadly, many of our friends and family are socio-pathic poultry eaters and would be saddened by a no-poultry menu.


As Palucid and I discussed menu possibilities, I suggested offering our guests a buffet. Palucid adamantly refused—even before hearing any of my reasons. Colour rose to his cheeks, and the volume of his voice also rose. We had an intense conversation that went something like:


“But we—“


“But I thi—“







Such is the dialogue between a bridezilla and her groomzilla. It would have been an impasse if I had been even remotely as passionate about food as Palucid was. Personally, as long as I didn’t have to spend my wedding dinner choking down some kind of salty, gooey and overcooked pasta “vegetarian” dish, I was willing to be agreeable. Palucid revelled in the illusion that he was the mighty victor. Whenever he found anyone, usually people in his family, who did not relish the thought of buffets at a wedding banquet, I would be held subject to a rigorous chorus of “See? I told you so!” So rarely did Palucid have such compelling evidence that he might be more correct than I am, I did not have the heart to begrudge him his glory.


I left the banquet menu planning to Palucid—he could go all groomzilla on someone else’s ass. After all, it was a win-win for me. I would not have to endure a crappy menu, nor would I have to deal with any chefs or caterers in pursuit of a non-crappy menu. As Palucid secured a menu rich in both options and red meat, I could happily resume my passive research and internet shopping. As for Palucid, he would get all of his groomzilla out of his system in time for a peaceful easement into the rest of the wedding planning chaos, or as I like to describe it: The Bridal Vortex.




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