Nina and Robin are getting married in Boston this weekend. I’m the maid of honor, which I know is technically incorrect because I’m married and not a virgin. Also, “maid” is sexist, but really, “matron” is way, way worse with all of the prison imagery. I tried saying “honor attendant” a couple of times, but I got the same confused look that I get when I say I kept my “birth” name (instead of “maiden”) , so “maid” of honor it is.

Nina’s a funny bride. She’s so afraid of being a bridezilla, that she’s going the other way. The “John Deere” phone call…green dresses, yellow flowers… was really endearing. Nina’s going to be double-mothered for the next several days leading up the event, and I think she should fully erect the diva shield and cry “it’s my day” as often and loudly as possible.

Now, because I’m here in Ohio, I’m missing some of the traditional “maid” duties. I did get to help with the dress selection (and I’m pretty sure the sales woman at Brides by Demetrious still hates me), which was way fun. But aside from the occasional John Deere call, I’m not that involved in the planning. Still, I know it’s my job to buffer Nina from as much stress and as many mothers as I can, but who knew that in the days of olde (not to be mistaken with the days of yore), my job requirements would have been far more perilous.

According to  Bizarre Origins of Wedding Traditions, “Historically, that dress you’ll never wear again was actually selected with the purpose of tricking the eye of evil spirits and jealous ex-lovers (spicy!). Brides’ faithful attendants were instructed to wear a dress similar to that of the bride so that during their group stroll to the church it would be hard for any ill-willed spirits or former boy-toys to spot the bride and curse/kidnap/throw rocks at her.”

First of all, it’s a great dress (really it is). Now, I’m fully prepared to deal with evil spirits. Jealous ex-lovers too, for that matter, and this bit of history led me to speculate which of Nina’s exes might actually turn out to be a wedding day stalker (I won’t name him here, but let’s just say he published a book about a certain evil and anorexic blond conservative media gadfly/demon). Is it wrong that I fantasize just a little about going all crazy white girl on him? It’s that displaced anger again.

The job of the best man was even better: “the original duty of a “Best Man” was to serve as armed backup for the groom in case he had to resort to kidnapping his intended bride away from disapproving parents. The “best” part of that title refers to his skill with a sword, should the need arise.”

Shit. Why can’t the maid of honor have a sword?

There were also some rather disturbing traditions regarding consummating the marriage and witnesses to that event…it’s where the garter and bouquet business come from. The bride throws the bouquet to distract guests so that they won’t tear off her clothes to help the event along. The garter comes from the tradition of the groom tossing out the bride’s undergarment as proof that the deed had been done.

Today’s weddings are much more subdued and classy affairs (and I think, frankly, they’re the worse for it) without live sex shows, sword play, and evil spirits, but the details of planning and dealing with everyone’s agendas and peony issues may be arguably more stressful than a little well-intended physical attack from the wedding guests. It is still the bride that bears the brunt of the rock-throwing.

My sister and I were talking today about “bride brain,” and how all of the planning with all of the people just gets to be too much near the end. The diva shield is a response to that overload. I wish I could spend the week in Boston with Nina to ease the stress…or to at least distract the mothers. I wish I could be there to help make sure that the flowers get delivered or that the centerpieces are right.

I think I could be really handy with a sword, if it came to that.