Always a bride, never a bridesmaid

I'm pretty sure I've told you guys about my mom and her addiction to all things matrimonial. Well, she's at it again. She's due to hitch her new beau this fall. Surprisingly we will not have to sit in the House of Guilt, a.k.a. the Mormon church for this round of nuptials. She decided to have it in a tasteful little chapel in the middle of a State Park with a full out reception in the park's quaint hotel. (Yes, thank god, there will be a full bar. Plus, knowing my family, someone will have some decent weed on hand to get us through Numero 5.)

When I heard she was getting married in a little chapel with no electricity, I thought, "Wow, maybe this one will be low key and simple and maybe, hell, dare I say...Elegant? Tasteful?" However, everytime I hear about another detail I get rudely awakened to the fact that momma-dear loves her drama and the details just get bigger and bigger.

Thankfully I stopped having to be in the wedding party on Number 3. I absolutely hated Number 4, so I dressed super slutty, all in black and sat with Mom's best friend in the bathroom trying to talk her out of it. That didn't work but I was in the Mormon church's bathroom and mom was already in the dress, so I didn't have a lot of things on my side. Once lace and silk touch mom's skin, it's all "Sure I can work and pay your bills and raise your kids! You stay home and treat me like shit and eat all the food, you fat fuck. I love you!" and there is no stopping her.

Do I like Number 5? He's okay. They fight alot and he drinks more than I know she can handle. Plus mom still plays her old relationship tricks. Neither one is ready for it and I just keep thinking, "why not just live together?" However this marriage is on greater stakes. This time there is a little girl involved that wants nothing more than to have a mom. So if it doesn't work out, the only one really hurt will be that little girl. So what's the line between being supportive, not caring so I don't have to think about it and worrying about that little girl because she reminds me of me and all those years of hoping for a stable dad?

And when should I tell her that a lace jacket with a train is not something that even Dolly Parton would wear to a Grand Ol' Opry showcase?