Why You Should Never Get Married in June

They say June brides are the happiest, and while I don't know who 'they' are, I'll tell you this: those brides are also the most delusional.

In the South, June weddings are like the Super Bowl of weddings. Everyone's in a frenzy; half the time, no one remembers what's going on. I've seen brides in June sweat through satin and spend more time planning their Big Day than most people spend organizing their entire lives. If it leads these lovely ladies to anything, June dates guide them to make poor life choices in pursuit of perfection.

By the time June rolls around, that bride has been planning this wedding for at least a year. She's had a Pinterest board with over 1,000 pins on everything from flowers to tablecloths, and she's convinced that her flower girl will need a personal assistant. We're talking about a woman who's gotten so deep into planning that she rearranged the seating chart more times than her living room.

You'd think that on your wedding day, you'd be treated like royalty. In reality, June brides spend most of the day in a sweaty, hot mess of lace and hairspray, trying to figure out which aunt gets to sit where.

Now, I've never been one to shy away from a little humidity, but there's something about being dressed in satin and tulle in the middle of a June heatwave that makes you question your life choices. By the time the ceremony's over, a June bride looks like she just crawled out of a sauna. Those delicate curls? Gone. That bridal glow? More like a bridal sweat.

My Aunt Margaret once said, "I wish they wouldn't hold these durned things outside. It's always a delicate balance of looking perfect and staying alive."

The real magic of June weddings is watching the bride try to balance a bouquet while fanning herself with a program. No one is going to tell that her face is covered in makeup that's already half-melted. The poor lass is already aware and rethinking that decision.

The wedding is supposed to be a joyous occasion, but I'll tell you this right here, every June bride gets a front-row seat to the family circus once they realize they've already rented the big tent.

There's the aunt who insists on sitting next to the uncle who's been estranged for 20 years. And don't even get me started on the cousin who thinks catching the bouquet is a reason to fight for their life like they're in the family octagon.

You would think that June brides just want a lovely, quiet ceremony. But no. They've got to have a thousand-dollar cake, three hundred guests, and a reception band that will play Shout at least five times because none of us have ever seen Animal House multiple times in our lives.

If you've never had to referee a fight between a bride and her mother-in-law over the flower arrangements, I suggest you never try it. It's like putting two cats in a bag and watching them go at it. You can call the Humane Society all you want, but they ain't coming to this.

I once had a girl tell me, "No one told me when I got married that I'd spend the entire ceremony trying to keep my face from looking like a deer caught in headlights. It's like everyone's waiting for you to mess up so they can judge you for the rest of your life."

Every June bride knows that the moment she steps down that aisle, she's not just walking toward the altar; she's walking into a 5-hour performance of Bride as the Star of the Show.

It's like you can hear a thousand whispers: "Does she look happy?" "Did she just sweat through her veil?" "Why is her father holding his stomach like that? Is he having a heart attack?" "So they let Uncle Junior out of prison for this?"

And just when you think it's all over, someone asks if you'll do it all over again for the anniversary. A June bride's worst nightmare: getting married a second time. In June.

Let's be honest. June weddings aren't as glamorous as they look. Behind every big, happy moment, there's a moment where the bride realizes she forgot to order enough shrimp for the buffet. Or that the cake has no frosting on one side.

A June bride's worst nightmare: right before the ceremony, the groom's boutonniere falls off. But the miracle happens when someone comes to the rescue. This purveyor of ceremony salvation is usually a grandmother or the cousin who dropped out of college to be a professional bridesmaid.

There's something about being the father of a June bride in the South that turns even the toughest of men into a peculiar mix of sentimental wreck and wallet-wielding hostage. One minute, he's staring at the wedding invoice, muttering, "This caterer better serve gold-dusted fried chicken for these prices," the next, he's dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief, wondering how his baby girl grew up so fast.

Southern dads, you see, don't just walk their daughters down the aisle; they carry the weight of her childhood memories, the opinions of meddling relatives, and the increasingly absurd cost of mason jar centerpieces. And don't get him started on the floral arrangements. "Peonies? What in tarnation is a peony, and why does it cost more than my first truck?"

The wedding ends, and our June bride can finally collapse into a pile of lace and satin, knowing she survived a day of wild-eyed relatives, sweat-stained dresses, and one too many wedding planners.

June brides might be crazy, but it's a kind of beautiful madness. It's the kind of chaos that makes you laugh, cry, and drink a lot of sweet tea in the same afternoon.

So, here's to June brides: may your dresses be wrinkle-free, your family stays mostly sober, and your wedding cake has at least one layer that doesn't fall apart before the ceremony.