My cousin’s first wedding, to [Bride #1], is a disaster. Neither of [Bride #1]’s bridesmaids show up, and one of [Cousin]’s two groomsmen doesn’t show up, either. My cousin’s female best friend acts as a bridesmaid, and [Cousin]’s gay male best friend is the groomsman. The other attendees are my aunt, [Bride #1]’s mom, my parents, my sister, my boyfriend, [Female Best Friend’s] boyfriend, and me.

After vows are exchanged, [Bride #1] tosses the bouquet. I have only been dating my boyfriend for a month, and my sister is sixteen and a lesbian (gay marriage isn’t legal yet). [Female Best Friend] jumps VERY energetically and catches the bouquet, as my sister and I have no interest in doing so and have stood well back from her. She lands poorly and sprains her ankle.

Then comes time for the garter toss. [Female Best Friend]’s boyfriend is VERY eager to catch it. I cajole [My Boyfriend] and [Gay Groomsman] to do as my sister and I did: just stand there so it at least looks like someone else is trying to catch the thing. They do so reluctantly.

When [Cousin] throws the garter, [Female Best Friend]’s boyfriend elbows [Gay Groomsman] in the torso and backhands [My Boyfriend] in the face, giving him a black eye. I later learn that [Gay Groomsman] has a couple of cracked ribs! [Female Best Friend]’s boyfriend catches the garter, and [Gay Groomsman] and [My Boyfriend] go off alone commiserate.

[Female Best Friend]’s boyfriend proposes, and she accepts. [Bride #1] is livid and pours the single bottle of champagne over [Female Best Friend]’s head.

Eight years later, [Cousin] has been divorced from [Bride #1] for a while and finally marries [Bride #2]. This wedding is also relatively small, with about thirty people, but it is in a very nice venue, with food arranged by my aunt, her best friend, and my mother.

Everyone shows up, including [Bride #2]’s divorced parents and their significant others. I have also been divorced for a couple of years but am now seeing a guy I really like. He didn’t attend because he has limited mobility and it is a bit of a walk to the venue.

After the festivities are over, [Bride #2] approaches me.

Bride #2: “Here, these are for you.”

She hands me her wedding bouquet.

Me: “Wait, what? Why?”

Bride #2: “My bridesmaids are married, and I hate my brother’s girlfriend. I heard my mom and her boyfriend saying that if Mom catches the bouquet, he’ll ask her to marry him, and I heard my dad tell his girlfriend the same thing. I don’t want drama. I know your boyfriend couldn’t come, but when I met him he seemed super awesome. So, here, come outside and we will do pictures.”

Her three married friends are already waiting outside. With them standing behind me, the photographer has me toss the bouquet aloft while jumping and gets a good picture of me catching it again.

Bride #2: “Thanks. I can tell my parents the bouquet toss was only for people who haven’t been married before.”

Me: “But… I’m divorced… and they’re… already married?”

Bride #2: “Yeah, I know. She doesn’t, though, and I heard about the fiasco with the bouquet and garter toss at [Cousin]’s first wedding. I did not want that! I also refused to wear a garter, so we could get out of the garter toss, but my mom paid for the photographer and specified bouquet toss pics. This was easier than arguing.”

Now, three years after that wedding, I am engaged to the man I was seeing then. [Female Best Friend] from the first wedding is still happily married to the man who proposed to her then. [Bride #2]’s parents are not seeing anyone. So, I guess it all worked out in the end!

My brother announces that he and his girlfriend of many years are engaged and are planning on having a wedding the following year. They give nine months’ notice, at least, to people who will be invited and announce what the colour theme for the wedding will be — purple. In the time between the announcement and the wedding date, I am easily able to order a dress from an online retailer in London and still have time to replace it if I need to, which I ultimately don’t.

The wedding weekend arrives. The wedding is absolutely gorgeous. It’s a sunny day on the beach, and I can’t help but cry because my brother is actually marrying the mother of his three children and love of his life. He has never seemed happier.

[Brother] is my half-brother; we share a mum but not a dad. Growing up, it was my dad who raised [Brother] and me, so to him, my dad was his dad. My dad, prior to marrying my mum, had a first wife and a couple kids with that wife, including [Half-Sister]. [Brother] and I have always had some issues with her. She is only my half-sister, not [Brother]’s, but he still included her in the wedding and such as a family member and guest. I don’t notice at first, because I am too caught up in the whirlwind of my brother’s wedding ceremony, but [Half-Sister] isn’t wearing purple. No, no. She is wearing WHITE.

To be specific, she is wearing her WHITE WEDDING DRESS to someone else’s wedding. [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law] are pissed, especially [Sister-In-Law].

At the reception, some people have changed clothes. It is my first ever wedding, so I didn’t think that far ahead; I still wear my soft lilac dress without a problem while everyone eats and shares some drinks, interacts with the bride and groom — what I assume to be normal wedding things.

But [Half-Sister].

Oh, [Half-Sister], [Half-Sister], [Half-Sister].

She is feeling extremely sad and lonely because no one is paying attention to her: the thirty-something-year-old woman who wore her wedding dress to someone else’s wedding. I wonder why no one wants to interact with her? She begins crying maybe halfway through the reception, openly, loudly, and in a way that clearly begs for someone to come notice her. I’m a nice person, so I try to be the good half-sister I should be and bite the bullet to go sit with her for a little while and ask her what’s wrong.

Half-Sister: “No one is paying attention to me!”

I stare at her, confused a little.

Me: “What do you mean?”

Half-Sister: “Everyone is talking with [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law], but no one is talking to me! And when I try to speak with [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law], they don’t talk to me!”

I sigh internally and can’t help but wonder how she didn’t connect the dots.

Me: “[Half-Sister], it’s their wedding. Of course, everyone is going to be talking to them and they’re going to be busy.”

Half-Sister: “I don’t care! I’m [Brother]’s sister, so he should talk with me more.”

Actually, lady, you’re not his sister. I am. But okay, whatever. I was able to slip away and spend time with some other family who weren’t acting as if this day was all about them. After the ceremony, [Sister-In-Law] admitted to me she was livid about how [Half-Sister] wore the wedding dress. She’d had plenty of time to plan for the wedding and get appropriate attire, but when finally confronted, [Half-Sister] said that she had no other dress she could wear.

Even nearly four years later, I’m still pissed at my half-sister for doing that. My mum, [Brother], and [Sister-In-Law] are also pissed. I’ve since cut contact with [Half-Sister], as we never really had a good bond anyway. As far as I know, [Brother] and [Sister-In-Law] have limited contact with her but that can’t be helped as they live in the same city, while I happily live in a place where an ocean is between me and her.

I’m the oldest of three sisters. The youngest sister is fully in her gothic elegance/vampire-esque fashion style. She’s had to really fight our parents about wearing it; despite her looking extremely smart in it, they can’t get over the fact that it’s black on black, so at this time she’s been refusing to change her style for ANYONE and ANYTHING. She also works in fashion and knows seasonal trends, etc. She’s ideal to have around if you want style advice, basically. The middle sister — [Bride] in this story — has a very effeminate style — bright and pastel colours and florals.

[Bride] is getting married and is having a spring-themed wedding, which she clarifies to mean light colours, pastels, and florals. Her bridesmaids — the groom’s sisters, her friends — go from being great and loving the light pinky-purple dresses [Bride] picked to suddenly hating them after [Bride] pays for them. They start demanding that she buys them black dresses that are really, really short and reveal a lot; it’s pretty clear that they want [Bride] to pay for party dresses for them.

I then find out from [Youngest Sister] that Mum has been steamrolling every appointment so it’s what SHE wants rather than [Bride], and when [Bride] stands up for herself, Mum calls her a Bridezilla and threatens to not let her have use of a family heirloom that’s been used for every wedding in our family for literal centuries.

We are in a group chat, just the three of us sisters. None of us have discussed what [Youngest Sister] and I are wearing for the wedding. [Bride] has been messaging us complaining about the bridesmaids.

Bride: “It’s just OBVIOUS they just want a free outfit from me! I don’t have that kind of money.”

Youngest Sister: “Plus, like, you’re the one who has to live with the photos. I’ve tried that with Mum, by the way, and she’s still not budging on the holly jacket and dark green skirt.”

Me: “They’re s*** friends. Drop ‘em. Also, how dark is this green?”

Youngest Sister: “It’s pine green. Literally the colour of a Christmas tree. I have no patience for her. ‘It’s flooooraaaaaaal and green is new groooooowth.’ BS! It’s not. It’s obviously from the autumn/winter collection. It even says it on the label!”

Bride: “Thanks for trying. Oh, by the way, you know that velvet floral thing you have?”

Youngest Sister: “You mean the one dad calls my funeral attire, yes?”

Bride: “Yeah. Can you wear it to the wedding?”

Youngest Sister: “I mean… I can, but I did buy something specific for the wedding.”

Me: “Ooh, so did I. Do you have photos?”

Youngest: “Sure do. I’ll send them through. But like, I’ll wear whatever you want, [Bride]”

We wait for the photos to come through. I am shocked to see that it’s a pencil/shift dress with a rose pink bodice and a white rose floral design for the bottom with the roses outlined in black. She’s coupled it with a black shrug, black and pink shoes with roses on them, and a pink fascinator/hat that has a little veil effect.

Me: “This is mine!”

I share what I picked out, which is from the same collection as [Youngest Sister]’s dress. Mine is an A-line with the white floral rose print on the bodice and the skirt section entirely in the rose pink. I’ve coupled it with a white shrug and white and pink shoes.

Youngest Sister: “Oh, my!”

Me: “We match!”

Bride: “Did you match on purpose?”

Youngest Sister: “I spent a long time looking at that one but couldn’t deal with the amount of rose pink on that one, though I love the silhouette.”

Me: “We didn’t talk about it! I tried that one on but the hips said no.”

Youngest Sister: “We didn’t. And just as well your hips don’t lie, really. But anyway. I’ll wear what you want me to do, in this case.”

Bride: “But you HATE pink! And… colours! You’re a beautiful, gothic fairytale living your best life and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable!”

Youngest Sister: “I hate them for making you cry more than I hate pink. I’m gonna give them a shock and show ’em how it’s supposed to be done since they’re s***s.”

Bride: “Christ. Like. Wow. Okay. If you’re happy to. Like. Thank you.”

The subject changes and a few days go by. Then, we get this.

Bride: “I was trying to compromise with the two s***s and was telling them how my very gothic sister has gone with a pink and white dress… which matches my other sister’s dress… and then it clicked. Why am I wasting my time with those two?! F*** ‘em! Will you be my bridesmaids, instead?”

Naturally, we agreed. Our parents did think this meant that [Youngest Sister] had moved on from her phase, but they were quickly disappointed. Whenever Mum nagged her over her clothing, she’d just point out the winter suit Mum wore to a spring wedding.

This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!

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I’m an out-and-proud lesbian. I left the closet at age six and never looked back.

My best friend and I have been BFFs since we were toddlers, and my parents basically raised him and me as siblings — to the point that I call him “Bro” and he calls me “Sis.” I always introduce him as my big brother and he tells his friends I’m his little sister. It helps that he has a passing resemblance to my mom and me.

Singapore has this really dumb law that property can only be owned by people above thirty-five unless they are married. My best friend desperately wants to leave his toxic family and never return, so he needs to get hitched as soon as possible.

[Best Friend] found himself a girlfriend in similar straits, and they agreed to marry after he finished his mandatory military service and saved up enough to afford a flat. My mom also agreed to give him a loan and conveniently forgot to mention any interest or fixed repayment date.

Alas, his girlfriend found herself a better deal with someone else and summarily dumped him about a third of the way through his service, leaving him with a broken heart and even more desperate than before.

He had a backup plan, of course, but it was fairly unpalatable, as it involved renting an apartment with three other guys, and the only people he could find to agree with that were either horrendously immature or slobs.

My BFF is lamenting this conundrum while having dinner at my place, when I decide to “propose” to him right then and there, with the idea that we’ll divorce after he gets a flat. It takes a bit of convincing, but beggars can’t be choosers. My parents have to sweeten the deal by promising a really generous dowry, but he eventually says yes.

We begin preparing to get married. We tell all our friends about it, which is where things get silly.

EVERY SINGLE ONE of them reacts with shock and disgust. “Oh, my God, but he/she is your brother/sister! Isn’t that incest?!” Even some younger members of my family react that way.

It turns out we’ve thought of each other as siblings for so long that we’ve never told any of our friends that we aren’t actually blood-related. And my younger family members — including my actual younger brother — genuinely never realised he wasn’t actually my brother as, since as far back as they could remember, we always told them [Best Friend] was my brother.

After a whole motherload of explanations, the two of us are sitting on my bed and looking dumbstruck at each other.

Me: “I never realised just how many people we told that we were siblings.”

Best Friend: “Yeah, that was awkward. In all fairness, Sis, you’re literally one of the last people I saw myself marrying, so we never saw that as an issue.”

Me: “Huh. For me, you were literally the only guy I even remotely considered marrying. But I see your point, Bro. Never thought we actually would get hitched. You being my sperm donor was obvious, but actually marrying? Nope.”

Best Friend: “I know. It’s one thing to help you have kids. But to actually marry you?”

He shakes his head and lets out a long sigh.

Best Friend:  “Anyway, thanks again, Sis. I owe you big time.”

Me: “Eh, what are best-friends-slash-siblings for? Don’t mention it.”

We hug.

Best Friend:  “Love you, Sis.”

Me: “Love you, too, Bro.”

We stay like that for a while before we let go.

Best Friend: “But after we get married, we absolutely have to introduce ourselves as best friends or a couple. Calling ourselves siblings just causes way too much drama.”

Me: “Crap. That’s not gonna be easy. I’m so used to calling you my brother.”

Best Friend: “It’s not easy for me, either. I literally cannot see you as anything other than my little sister.”

Me: “Same. God, this is so awkward.”

Best Friend: “No kidding. Ah, well, just have to knuckle down and do it.”

I groan.

Despite everything, we get married a year later. We have a beautiful ceremony, swear our vows, and kiss. And every single person that attends says that it feels weird.

Me: “I always wanted to be a bride. I’m one now, but this doesn’t feel real.”

Best Friend: “If someone had told me that I’d be marrying you, I’d have laughed in their faces. I can’t believe we actually are doing it.”

Dad: “I seriously can’t see [Best Friend] as anything other than your brother.”

Mom: “It feels like two of my kids got married at the same time.”

Aunt: “This is so weird. The two of you look like cosplaying siblings.”

Cousin: “Someone please get me some brain bleach. The two of you kissing just looks beyond wrong to me.”

Uncle: “I cannot take this seriously. The two of you look nothing like a couple.”

Homophobic Grandma: “I’m happy you married a man, as is only proper, but even this feels wrong to me.”

Younger Brother: “I feel so much like Tyrion Lannister right now.”

Me: “Noted. I’ll name our son Joffrey, then.”

[Younger Brother] gives me the most horrified look.

Younger Brother: “I was joking!”

Lannister jokes aside, our marriage was perfect. It’s been a couple of years now, and my best friend now has his own flat and is far away from his toxic family. Meanwhile, the ex that dumped him underwent a really messy divorce and lost the flat, stranding her back at square one with nothing to show for it.

We took our eldest to a wedding when she is quite young. A friend of the bride is talking to us throughout the evening; she is a bit grating. She keeps making comments about the blankets we use, the way we hold our daughter, etc. Clearly, she has no idea what she is talking about; half of it is outdated old wives’ tales and the other half just don’t make sense.

We keep polite, and my wife starts to entertain our daughter with some phonics-styled reading books.

Guest: “I don’t believe in phonics.”

Me: “Oh, really?”

Guest: “Yeah, it doesn’t work.”

Wife: “Oh? We teach with it, and the children seem to really take to it well.”

Me: “Yeah, [Daughter] is learning really quickly using it.”

Guest: “It just doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, it seems wrong; that’s not how the letters work. If I were you, I would chuck that book right now.”

Me: “Do you have children yourself?”

Guest: “Well, no.”

Me: “Any experience in child development or teaching in early years?”

Guest: “Well, no, but—”

Me: “But nothing. We know how to raise a child and we know how to teach a child. You do not, so please, just no more.”

She sneers at me and stands to leave.

Guest: “I was only trying to help.”

There is nothing like parenting advice from a non-parent with an opinion.