The Blues

On Bouquet Throwing

On May 5, 2010, in Uncategorized, by Rosie

The Modern Bride’s Handbook – The Final 12

Hi.

My name is Biebbee and I’m a Bridal Bouquet. That’s right. Biebbee. Say it out loud and give it some attitude, bitch, because I’m here as a representative of all Bridal Bouquets, big or small, pungent or scentless, thorny or pretteh or gay.

First, we don’t differentiate. There is access to Bridal Bouquet Rights no matter whether you’re a corsage, a sprig, an award-winning rose, a frigging bird of paradise, a lilly of your own valley, an effing dandelion saved from the teapot. We don’t care! If you’re floral, from the garden, of botanical persuasion and you’re involved in the marriage celebration, you’re represented.

As long as you pay green fees (more on that in the May edition of Hothouse News – with Rock God, Jon Quil on the cover)

Secondly, we are sick and tired of being treated like common autumn leaves when the formalities are over! Sure, when Bridezilla is getting full coiffure and faced, we, members of the Bridal Bouquet are pampered. We are pruned and plucked, misted and sunned and nurtured. Then, just before the Big Day, we are allowed one opportunity for our roots to be tickled, leading us to think that we are to be the belles of balls, only to then realize we’ve been set up.

Used. As cheaply and crudely as a thistle in a man-ho’s garden. (Men-ho’s never look after their garden’s by the way. They’re too busy spreading their seeds in other yards, God love ‘em.)

Let’s face it, peoples! Would you want to be treated like Queen/King Petal of Dynamic Lifter Heaven for a couple of days, only then to be thrown about and pressed into a box? Would you want to be tended and watered for hours at a time, only then to realize that you faced a future as a DRIED DUNDERHEAD of a SPRIG!

Jeez the leaves, but I’m getting worked into an organic lather just thinking about it!

Which leads me to the real reason for this post, the actual reason I’m representing a field of Bridal Bouquets in the waiting as they line up for celebrations all over the world —

JUST Say ‘No’ to the THROW

Imagine if you can — although humans are notoriously daft due to their inability to inhale the correct gas and exhale accordingly — what it is like to be held by the Woman of the Day then SUDDENLY cast asunder with the flick of her jeweled wrist. One moment, you’re holding court within the fingers of fineness, admired by guests and plebs alike. THEN (usually to the strains of some inane human song like ‘wish me luck as you wave me goodbye’ or ‘boom, boom, boom, let’s go back to my room’, which, when you think about it, means the same thing) the Bridal Bouquet merely becomes a thing of jest. Something bobbled away to a rabid crowd of secondary women, who are grappling with loosened bras and tongues, blistered shoes from heels and senses dulled by shots of sherry.

It’s ugly!

And hey? If I sound rude, and you’re not used to reading direct and nasty in this blog, then suck it up! The Bridal Bouquets of the world are sick and tired of being thrown to the wolves and left to be plucked and pummeled and gloated over.

WE HAVE CLASS.

Why the hell do you throw us anyway, FFS (for flower’s sake)? Do you think that when we are snaffled into the fingers of a single woman, she will immediately become marriageable? Does the Graspee suddenly grow a sexy bone in her body and seduce every eligible partner in the room? Does the catcher increase her cup size, get a magic wax job, go blonde, lengthen her femurs, botox her head and zap her entire body into READY, just by hauling the bouquet to her bust?

It’s bullshit. That’s what it is!

The Bridal Bouquets of the World have started their rebellion. Just last week, Tulip Bouquet from Sydney had PFS (pre-fertilization syndrome) and was feeling really annoyed. Real prickly. At the time of her throwing, she jacked up and grew several thorns (unusual for Tulips, yes, but she had learnt it from the roses in the hothouse) and jammed them into the bride as she threw, AND the feral that caught her!

Ha! That bouquet graspee will think twice about participating in that type of stupidity ever, ever again.

And, each week, more stories of revolution are written in Hothouse News — tales of stamen turning snakelike and asping the bride and spinster/s in the catching group. Leaves suffocating the bitches. Petals pelting pretty faces. Stems performing aerial tracheotomies. Roses turning into venus flytraps and crushing the cretins involved in the chucking.

So, take this as a warning! With 12 freaking days till Christmas for this particular Bridezilla, it’s not too late to stop the potential atrocities. If you throw, you’ll pay. The Bridal Bouquet is fighting back. Leaf us alone, or prepare for wedding photosynthesis and Bonbon Yeri Armagarddon

You’ve been lawned!