Barn

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4 letters. So much hatred.

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A "barn wedding" usually means people are throwing the word "chic" around with their own stupid modifiers. "Southern chic", "boho chic" , "rustic chic" , whatever. It usually means cotton being used as a centerpiece somewhere to the offense of at least 3 guests of color. It means not nearly enough outlets, more than enough spiders and burlap. So . Much. God.Damn. Burlap.

As soon as I saw the word in the email my vision went red and I had to peruse youtube for an hour before I calmed down enough to see what my new client actually wanted.

I'm a wedding planner. I hate it ; and I've seen some weird shit . A recent client had recommended me to family, friends, and anyone else who would listen. Soon, even more odd requests started rolling in.

This time around, the clients were a fairly cute looking couple from upstate Maine who were having a wedding on their family farm.

The farm in question was gorgeous. 45 acres of land, picturesque fields and pastures and lake with adjoining boathouse and dock.

The ceremony was to take place in back of the main house, with the alter placed so the lake glistened pristinely behind the couple as they took their vows. I've had several brides who would murder for this location and this couple had it for free.

The reception was to take place in the barn. Luckily, the family used this barn for entertaining frequently and had a full electrical system put in. She also though burlap was "tacky", in her own words. I was over the moon.

Overall, the initial coordinating was fairly routine. The caterer was a farm to table hot shot who specialized in cuts of beef and mutton. The florist promised both me and the bride that wolfs-bane would not be present- as if it would've been anyway? Seriously, when was the last time you even saw that shit in an arrangement? But the bride wanted reassurance and reassure I did. The only strange thing to occur was this very long NDA agreement that also absolved the family from any guilt or liability in case of animal attack. Honestly, it made sense on a farm.

Both families seemed to be old money. Their "estate" had an emblem with their last name and two wolves emblazoned on their front gate. I was told it was an old family crest that the great-great- whatevers brought over from Europe.

The bride, Mia, was the sweetest. Genuinely kind, and treated me like a professional rather than a servant... It's shitty that that makes her stand out. Regardless, she was a cinnamon roll.

The day of, I was up early. Making sure chairs were arranged, the decorators were on time, the photographer showed up and the general schedule ran smoothly.

Mia was extremely nervous and texted me every 10 minutes to check in and make sure things were okay. It was annoying, sure, but she was nice about it so I didn't mind as much.

All in all, everything was fine until the cake cutting.

The caterer brought in this 5 tiered masterpiece covered in blue and gold flowers. The beaming couple was poised for photos. It was all picture perfect- until the bride picked up the cake knife.

This couple was honest from the beginning that they were "specialty clients" . They included a detailed list of what could and could not be at their wedding. On this list- that I shared several times with every vendor- was the word "silver".

Welp. The baker apparently did not read the list I sent her- or maybe she thought they meant the color silver. Either way, One second the bride is posed for the cake cutting and the next her hand was smoking and her throat erupted with violent shrieks.

The baker appeared out of nowhere to see what was wrong and grabbed the knife. Confusion cross her face as the cake knife, which clearly caused so much pain, did nothing in her hand.

Mia's shrieks had now turned to growls.

The baker, understandably flipping her shit, dropped the knife and backed into the cake table. The cake toppled over and splattered directly onto the brides very beautiful, very expensive dress.

Pandemonium ensued.

Now, Im not sure if you have ever seen an upset bride. I have on several occasions, which is why I know the best thing to do is let the groom or her mom calm her down.

In this case, that meant the groom holding the bride by the midsection as she...melted. Not emotionally. I mean it looked like her skin melted off and was replaced with tawny grey fur. Howls escaped her lengthening muzzle and she thrashed as her spine snapped and changed form.

The grooms eyes had turned yellow and fur was spreading up his arms as he tried to keep a hold on his....sweetheart.

The baker tried to get away. She really did. However there was too much buttercream on the floor and she fell.

......I used to say that an angry bride would bite someones head off. I have been corrected- Mia went straight for the legs. Blood spattered across the table linens. The sound of screams, crunching bone and slurping filled the room.

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This is a good time to say that this was a small family wedding. No expense was spared and no fucks were apparently given.

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The guest began other conversations, as if the event was just mildly running behind. A bridesmaid was requesting a song from the DJ. A groomsman went outside with a pack of smokes. The mother of the bride was now holding a bloodied, sobbing Mia and I could vaguely make out "My dress" between hiccups.

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I felt a tap on my shoulder. The father of the bride was now looming over me. I raised an eyebrow.

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"I must remind you that you signed a liability waiver as well as a strict non disclosure agreement before entering our property."

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" Yep. You also signed the non refundable deposit form."

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He smiled...it was toothy. I briefly wondered who his dentist was and if I was too poor to see them.

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He looked over my completely neutral face and then chuckled.

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"Thank you for your services, We can take it from here."

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A week after I hauled ass from the reception, I received a package.

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It was a beautiful red wool cowl. Or that's what the tag said, realists like me call it a hood.

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Realists like me would also say that Mia is a smartass.