Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Saucy Bridezilla: 26, female, East Village, straight, and newly engaged!
DAY ONE
7:04 a.m.: Wake with a southern tingle. Still a hot mess over fiancé’s surprise proposal two weeks earlier (culminating from two and a half years of togetherness and my father’s behind-closed-doors declaration that I am no longer a “spring chicken.”) Don’t want to rouse him earlier than his alarm. Peck his pecker and start the day.
3:24 p.m.: Search the Web for “win free wedding” contests during downtime at work. Seeing photos of happy couples gives me that super-special feeling. Eager for the 6 p.m. whistle.
6:58 p.m.: Consider buying my first porn. I’m a married woman now. After researching on the Internet, find out that talk is cheap but Tease Before the Please ($39.99) is not.
7:24 p.m.: Have brilliant idea to siphon money from rich boss to fund bridal-gown purchase.
9:48 p.m.: Count dollar signs instead of sheep as I wait for fiancé to come home from work. Fall asleep to the vision of Vera Wang’s welcoming arms.
DAY TWO
6:48 a.m.: Arise to an unexpected body massage. Feign sleep so I can enjoy without reciprocating. I am a great partner.
3:20 p.m.: Feel bad about the faux-slumber tactic. While we wait for return of resized engagement ring, I suggest a quickie. Joke that I will be mad if he denies me. He denies me. Actually mad.
3:21 p.m.: Contemplate adding high-speed vibrator to wedding-gift registry.
10:09 p.m.: Talk with squeeze about having talented kids so we can force them into show business and spend earnings on unnecessary extravagances. Reference Gary Coleman circa 1989.
10:15 p.m.: Practice making these talented kids, missionary style. Note to self: Never bring up Gary Coleman before sex.
DAY THREE
6:17 a.m.: Pack fiancé in car for road trip to celebrate Thanksgiving with his future family.
8:42 a.m.: See three separate mothers at rest-stop bathroom powdering baby bottoms. Catch accidental glimpse of green-pooped diaper. In holiday spirit, give silent thanks for condoms.
5:17 p.m.: Receive panicked text from friend who regrets spending previous night with married co-worker. Message back that she’s a dirty slut. Put a smiley face at the end. But I am only half-kidding.
7:02 p.m.: Give oral while parents watch Jeopardy on the opposite end of house. I’ll take Gag Reflex for $200, Alex.
10:56 p.m.: Retreat to separate bedrooms in accordance with house rules.
DAY FOUR
11:45 a.m.: Kiss-kiss-hug-hug my parents good-bye and head back to apartment.
3:30 p.m.: Bring up idea of an engagement party. Conversation leads to anticipated guest list, which leads to venue considerations, which leads to color preferences. Halfway through party-favor options, notice fiancé hasn’t piped in for a good half-hour.
4:19 p.m.: Apologize for being anal about wedding details. Plant suggestion of sex.
6:20 p.m.: After three attempts to take initiative and execute suggestion, realize fiancé is more interested in watching DVR-ed Grey’s Anatomy. Jealous that Meredith’s hair always looks good post-romp.
DAY FIVE
10:16 a.m.: Wake up with a wedding to-do list forming in my head. Swat fiancé’s hand out of my pajama bottoms as I wonder whether my second cousin once removed should be “B” or “C” list.
12:10 p.m.: Barista at corner coffee shop who I’ve flirted with in the past offers a free drink in exchange for a date. Grab cup with right hand before bedazzling him with my left. Leave without paying.
8:20 p.m.: Detail for fiancé how I will begin referring to intercourse as “doing sex” after the autistic narrator in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, which I finish just in time for book club.
9:04 p.m.: Do sex. Doggie style. In the nighttime.
DAY SIX
2:30 p.m.: Brunch with recently hitched pals who are on the road to divorce. Wish I had spoken up during ceremony when priest gave the go-ahead, in part to save friends’ souls but more because I could have taped it for YouTube. Reconsider marriage.
2:31 p.m.: Reconsider friendship with brunch couple.
4:48 p.m.: Dial best friend for reassurance that fiancé and I are a good match even though I didn’t lose my virginity until 21 while he popped out of the womb taking threesome applications. Call goes to voice mail.
9:41 p.m.: Delete random e-mail from old boyfriend, which my guy notices. Go to bed without dessert.
DAY SEVEN
7:27 a.m.: Though running late for work, get out of jail free by playing the morning sex card when fiancé asks why the ex e-mailed.
5:10 p.m.: Send naughty text to fiancé. Accidentally write “gorny” instead of “horny.” Duck under cubicle to explain the error when he phones.
6:15 p.m.: After all the ex talk, see a look-alike on the 6 train. Recall his erectile dysfunction. Feel nauseous.
6:23 p.m.: Still nauseous. Pray I’m not pregnant. Research baby names, just in case. Short-list Suri, Apple, Sean Preston, and Kingston to ensure fair shot at early retirement.
Total: Three acts of intercourse; one act of fellatio; two quickies denied by fiancé; one quickie denied by self; three wedding fantasies; three future-children fantasies; one near-order of porn.
