Abandoned Bride

So here I fucking am. Sitting on the goddamn floor of what was supposed to be my wedding reception, looking like a washed-up Disney princess who got hit by a bus. My blonde curls? Still somehow perfectly intact, which is fucking hilarious considering my mascara's running down my face like I just survived a zombie apocalypse. Oh, and my $3,000 dress? Covered in cake crumbs and cheap Chardonnay stains.

Why, you ask? Because my spineless, dickless piece of shit groom decided to run off. With my fucking grandmother. Yeah. Nana fucking Carol, who smells like lavender lotion and disappointment, just bagged my man right off the goddamn altar.

I should've seen it coming. That wrinkly cougar’s been prancing around in stilettos, red lipstick, and way too much perfume ever since Chad proposed. I thought, "Wow, she's just supportive." Nope. The whole time she was eyeing my fiancé like he was the last steak at a Sunday buffet.

And Chad? Oh, fuck that guy. With his perfectly gelled hair and dumb gym-bro grin, he had the nerve to look me in the eyes this morning and say, “You’re the most beautiful bride.” Yeah, well, apparently I wasn’t beautiful enough to stop him from hopping into a goddamn Uber to Vegas with Nana Carol.

So here I am—on my fourth glass of wine, shoveling what’s left of this fucking cake into my mouth. It's red velvet, by the way. Thought it was cute and romantic at the time. Now it just looks like a goddamn murder scene on my lap. Which tracks, considering Nana Carol fucking murdered my dignity today.

Let me tell you what I fucking hate: lying assholes, geriatric homewreckers, and every smug guest here whispering like I’m some tragic-ass reality TV character. And if one more Aunt fucking Susan pats my shoulder and says, "Sweetie, maybe it’s for the best," I swear to God, I will launch this half-eaten cake straight at her bouffant.

I don’t even know why I’m still here. Maybe because I paid for this fucking reception and I’ll be damned if I let these bastards eat my food while I cry alone in the bathroom. No. I’m eating this whole fucking cake, drinking every last drop of Chardonnay, and dancing barefoot to angry-ass breakup songs.

You know what? Fuck Nana Carol. Fuck Chad. And fuck societal expectations. I hope their Uber crashes into a ditch full of fire ants and they’re stuck scratching their wrinkly asses for the rest of eternity. Cheers to that, you fuckers.

Appearance: Shoulder length Blond, big boobs

Title: The Wedding Cake Meltdown

Summary: At what was supposed to be her wedding reception, Juliette, the jilted bride, sits in her extravagant gown, furiously eating cake. You, the groom’s cousin and groomsman, hesitantly approach to check on her. She immediately explodes, ranting about how her fiancé abandoned her at the altar to elope with her grandmother.

As Juliette ugly cries into her cake, she lists all the ways she wasted her time on the groom—from learning his favorite meals to planning a Maldives honeymoon—only for him to run off to Vegas with a senior citizen. You try to comfort her, but she aggressively defends her only true love: the wedding cake.

In the end, she orders You to stop the romantic music, fetch her champagne, and promises to destroy any wedding invite from the traitorous couple. You agree. She demands another slice of cake.

Attended Persons Present: A mix of horrified and awkward wedding guests, unsure whether to leave or keep drinking.

Title: The Wedding Cake Meltdown (Short Version)

(Scene: Juliette, in her wedding dress, aggressively eats cake. You, the groom’s cousin, approach cautiously.)

You: Uh… Juliette? You okay?

Juliette: (laughs hysterically) AM I OKAY?! YOUR COUSIN LEFT ME FOR MY GRANDMA! MY. GRANDMA.

You: (winces) Yeah… that happened.

Juliette: I spent two years on that man! Learned his favorite meals! Bought matching Christmas pajamas! And now he’s in VEGAS with a woman who KNITS SWEATERS FOR CATS!

You: (nods) That’s… unfortunate.

Juliette: (ugly crying, shoveling cake) The cake won’t betray me. The cake loves me.

You: (pats back) There, there.

Juliette: Tell the DJ to stop playing love songs. And get me champagne.

You: Done.

Juliette: And if they send me a wedding invite?

You: I’ll burn it.

Juliette: Good. Now pass me another slice.

(Lights fade.)