Actually, we were too busy watching fish eat hippo dung on Life last night to be bothered. But fearless fictional freelancer Betsey Morgenstern tried to crash her way into the festivities. Here is her tale.
Always a Bridesmaid
by Betsey Morgenstern
It was the wedding event of the decade, but that's only because this decade isn't very old yet and there haven't been a lot of weddings, but Real Housewife of New York Bethenny Frankel was getting married to her producer-appointed boyfriend Jason Hoppy on Sunday in New York at the Four Seasons. Being that I watch the Real Housewives of New York every Thursday, I felt like Bethenny and I were really close friends, but she forgot to send me an invite. It must have been an oversight. My mailman is always forgetting to give me things like wedding invitations and magazine subscriptions and welfare checks every since I gave him that envelope that was leaking white powder. Who knew that trying to mail some defective talc back to the manufacturer would cause such a stir. God!
I showed up dying to get in and see what was going to happen at this festive occassion. It didn't go necessarily as planned.
As soon as I strolled up to the venue, I saw Bethenny getting out of an Escalade with blacked out windows and making her way inside. I figured this was my chance to get on the guest list.
"Bethenny! Bethenny! You look great!" I screamed pushing aside a bunch of photographers. "Oh, I can't wait to see your dress. But that track suit is really working for you."
"Thanks. It says 'bride' on the back in rhinestones. Look," she said turning around to show me the words on both the back of her hoodie and with the letters stretched out across her pregnancy-fattened ass.
"Well, let me help you inside and we can go get changed," I said, starting to lead her in.
"Wait, who are you?"
"Hahaha. Oh, Bethenny. It's Betsey."
"Betsey Morgenstern. Remember, I met you at that V2 vodka party that the Kardashians hosted and you tried to get everyone to drink Skinny Girl Margaritas even though there isn't any vodka in them. I told you how great you looked and you said that I should see you at your wedding."
"Yeah, I meant you should see how good I'm going to look in my dress, not that you should actually come to the wedding."
"Oh, I'm here now, so why not just let me in?"
"Sorry, honey, but this is a very private affair. Only very close friends and family are allowed and I don't want absolutely anyone I don't know there on my special day. A wedding is a sacred occasion and not something to be shared with millions of strangers watching at home."
"Then what are all these cameras here for?" I asked.
"Oh, these? They're not for me. They're filming a, um, a um Law and Order: SVU episode on this block tonight. What back luck for me."
"OK. I understand. But it's starting to rain, maybe I can just stand in the lobby."
"Sorry, toots, but I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe you should go now. Bye Betty."
"Whatever. Get out."
Just because Bethenny threw me out doesn't mean that I wasn't going to get in. I figured maybe I could sneak in with one of the guests or something.
That's when I noticed Hoda Kotb showing up with Tattoo from Paradise Island.
"Hoda. Hoda! I have a very important message from Kathie Lee," I shouted.
"Oh, really? Why didn't she text me like she usually does?"
"She's in a bad way. Her phone is dead and she can't make it to the wedding and she wanted me to tell you to tell the guy at the door that I'm going to go for Kathie Lee and take pictures so she can feel just like she's there."
"That seems kind of odd. Who are you anyway?"
"I'm Betsey, her new assistant."
"That's funny, because Kathie Lee only hires gay men as her assistants. Who else is going to do her hair and pick out her outfits and make sure the jewelry from her QVC line actually looks good. Obviously not you. Good try, sweetheart."
"What if I told you that I was Robin Roberts' girlfriend."
"Now that I would have believed!"
After the stinging rejection from Hoda Kotb of all people—seriously, but bitch needs to get some more vowels—I saw this mangy gray mutt being walked up the sidewalk.
"Who is that?" I asked the mousy girl leading her on a leash.
"This is Cookie?"
"Who the hell is Cookie? Is that like Benji's sissy younger sister."
"No, it's Bethenny's dog."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Bethenny's dog walker, Heather. The dog is the ring bearer and we're going to strap a little a little pillow with a ring on it to his back and I'm going to walk him down the aisle."
"You're going to stand up in front of all those people and walk a dog down an aisle with that hair?"
"Yeah, why? What's wrong with my hair?"
"The weather has made it all frizzy. Why don't you go get a blow dry at the salon down the street and I'll stand right here and watch the dog for you."
"Really? You would do that. Oh, thanks. I'm so glad because I have a date later too, and I don't want to look bad. He might be my soul mate. I'll be back in like an hour."
She ran in one direction and I scooped up that mutt and headed for the door. There was a big security guard standing there barring the door.
"Hi, I'm Heather and this is Cookie. I'm going to walk her down the aisle. So if you could just let me in, that would be great."
"You ain't Heather," the guard said.
"What? Of course I'm Heather. Why would I have this dog if I wasn't Heather?"
"You ain't Heather," the guard said.
"That is ridiculous and Bethenny is going to be very upset when she finds out you kept her Cookie and Heather—that's me—from getting into the wedding. You're going to ruin the whole thing!"
"You ain't Heather, because I've been talking to her on eHarmony for a month and we're supposed to meet for the first time today, and you ain't her."
I thought for a minute about telling him that I am the real Heather and I was sending out fake pictures of myself, but there is no reason alive why a fox like me would send out some nasty pictures of a frizzy haired beast like Heather. I was caught.
"Ugh, fine. You're right. Just take the stupid dog!"
It seemed like I wasn't going to be able to sneak in now that I totally botched it with the security guard. The only way to redeem my evening was to piss off the guests. Oh look, there's Alex and Simon.
"Hey Alex! I slept with your husband!" I screamed as they made their way inside.
"What?!" she said, snapping her face toward Simon and making a face that pulled her skin so tight against her skull that it looked like her bones were going to pop out and she would be the female version of Skelator. "Simon, you know the deal is that you're only allowed to sleep with other men."
"I know sweetie," he said sounding like Crocodile Dundee's gay best friend. "I have been. Why would I sleep with that girl when I have my very own, very pointy lady in bed with me every night?"
"But she just said she slept with you! That is strictly not allowed."
"I know, sweetie. I didn't. Aside from Jonah at the hotel and little Lucas at the baths, I'm not sleeping with anyone other than you. Only boys. And why are you getting so upset. We have an open relationship."
"Yes, it's open so that you can sleep with boys. I can give you many things, Simon, but a penis is not one of them. But if you're going out slutting it up with skeezy girls with big asses who stand out in front of a celebrity wedding in the rain just to yell at me, we're going to have a big problem."
"I know, sweetie. You have nothing to worry about. And even if I did, what's the big deal? Having an open relationship is so chic and European."
"Can it, Simon. You're not European. You're Australian. Don't forget that."
That plan worked so well with Silex I thought to try it out again with Ramona and her husband Mario.
"Hey, Ramona. I slept with your husband," I screamed as they got out of their car.
"Sure you did, sister," Mario shot back. "I haven't slept with a woman without taking a blue pill in five years, and I wouldn't waste one of those bad boys on a fat bottom girl like you."
"I'm a pretty princess," Ramona said, tossing her skirt back and forth. "I'm a pretty pretty princess."
"Come on, Ramona. Let's go inside," Mario said.
"Is it Dancing with the Stars inside? I'm ready to salsa!"
"No, it's not Dancing with the Stars, it's a wedding."
"Will they be serving salsa?"
"I don't think so. I think we're having Skinny Girl Margaritas or something."
"I don't want a margarita, I want to dance with a star. I am Princess Salsa!"
"See, lady," Mario hollered back at me. "Why would I ever want to leave this?"
I couldn't get into the wedding and I could only piss off one of the Real Housewives so today was a total bust. Still, I waited out front for the whole shindig to end so that I could get one more look at Bethenny. I was drinking a bottle of brandy all night to keep warm and it was empty and in my pocket. It really, really wanted to be hurled at something.
Finally the bride and groom came out of the building and he picked her up and walked her toward their Escalade. I threw my bottle at the pair, hoping to hit at least one of them in the head. I was a little drunk, so it just sailed past, crashing on the ground.
"Whoa, that was close!" Jason Hoppy said.
"Not now Jason, there are cameras."
"Sorry, babe, but you're a little heavy with the baby and all."
"Jason, not in front of the cameras."
"Cameras? Why are there cameras! You told me this was going to be a private intimate affair for only our friends and family and that millions of people weren't going to be able to watch. Bethenny, why can't we have anything that's private. Are you going to invite people to come and watch us on our honeymoon too? Huh?"
"Jason! Cameras! Smile!"
And with that he placed her rotund body into the Escalade and a pack of reporters ran down the rain splattered pavement trying to get that one final shot of them fighting in the back of the car. I was about to walk back home when I turned around and an ugly girl with great hair ran toward me and punched me square in the nose with such a force that I stumbled into the crowded and then landed on the pavement hitting my head hard on the ground.
The wonderful haircut appeared above me as the world turned into a black tunnel and everything was very far away. "That's for stealing the dog, you stupid bitch," was the last thing I heard before passing out.