Last weekend was my friend’s long-awaited wedding. She was Bridezilla; everything had to be big, it had to be perfect. As Maid of Honor, it was my job to ensure it was just that.
My gift was a customized display of wedding fireworks, the kind that explode as hearts and rings. Unfortunately, I hadn’t considered my Millie’s reaction to the explosions, an apocalyptic experience even for a Doberman like her. Millie pushed through the crowd and, as large dogs often do, miscalculated her size, hurling the bride into a table with shining candles. It seems her dress, for all it had cost, was highly flammable. The groom threw her, arms flailing, dress ablaze, into the pool.
Unsurprisingly, the reception ended early and the wedding night was spent in the hospital. Worst of all, no one saw my fireworks finale: “May the fire of your passion never cease.”