Tears splash onto the dining table as the woman with the six-figure wedding recounts nightmare after nightmare about an event most people would trade a year of their lives to attend. Lavish flowers, catered meals, tuxedos imported from somewhere fancier than anyone in the room, and still the whole day registers as a trauma, not a milestone. Nothing like sipping wine in a designer living room while the host dissects the failings of an eighty-thousand-dollar reception in the tone usually reserved for lousy takeout.

Some people spend adulthood hustling for a down payment or trying to cobble together enough for a decent trip: the guest list here gets treated to a full drama about how unspeakable life feels when reality does not align perfectly with vision boards. Victories vanish in a cloud of resentment when one woman spends more time counting disappointments than she ever did counting blessings. Turns out martyrdom is a hobby best pursued by someone who’s never had to chase the catering truck out of her own wedding.