In Protest of Bouquet Tosses 

This scene always makes me laugh.  Most women get crazy competitive, dive, and throw elbows for the bouquet like they’re fighting for the last loaf of bread after the apocalypse.  Here, the ladies from SATC seem completely unimpressed by the bouquet toss.  

I, however, take up the complete other end of the spectrum, being completely horrified by it.  I think it’s a stupid, sexist tradition that demeaningly parades all the single girls out in front of the crowd.  The garter belt toss for the guys never seems to garner the same level of humiliation because for men being single is something to brag about.  During the bouquet toss, I always want to grab the mic and bellow, “Step right up, gentlemen, and pick yourself a ripe and desperate one!”  Ugh.  Makes it even worse when you think about why women even carried flowers at weddings to begin with, because it covered their stench during the medieval times when bathing frequently wasn’t an option.  Fantastic.  Here’s a wad of plant reproductive parts so you smell less and maybe some man will finally want you!  He doesn’t have to carry flowers to smell good for you, but you’d better smell good for him.  I know today it doesn’t have the same meaning, but it just brings my hackles up.

The following collection of pictures demonstrates my fear and loathing of the bouquet toss and bouquets in general (for fear I will be forced to catch it) throughout every wedding I’ve been to in the last several decades.  As you’ll see from these pictures, I’m great at masking my emotions.  Good thing I’m not an actor.  I would have been fired a long time ago.  I assure you none of these are staged.  

1982. Four year old me, far right, refusing to smile, not coincidentally while in the presence of bouquet-wielding women. I hadn’t even been subjected to the humiliation of the bouquet toss yet, but clearly I already knew how I felt on the subject. Four year old feminist in the making.

1997. Emily looks truly happy (it was her wedding day after all). I, on the other hand, have an absurdly forced smile, kind of like I’m concentrating really hard on trying not to crap my pants…I mean, cute , exceedingly practical bridesmaid suit I, for once, wish I’d actually kept. (Emily’s my BFF of 26 years, we think alike. She also refrained from doing a bouquet toss. God love her.)

2004. Post bouquet toss. Notice my relief that Karen caught the bouquet. Also notice how I am using the groom as a buffer from the bouquet, with my hands shirking away as I try to pull as far away as possible from the scary bundle of imposed floral symbolic commitment. By the way, Karen looks just as scared holding that bouquet. And for the record, Karen has been with her boyfriend for 20 years and they never married legally.

2010. They didn’t even do a bouquet toss at this wedding and I was actually engaged at this time so I would have gotten out of it, but look at my face. I’m the Maid of Honor, so I have to hold the bride’s bouquet while she says her vows and I’m clearly petrified, like it’s going to come alive and eat me.

2010. Same wedding, same fear.

2012. Bouquet Toss Hell. Look how happy everyone is. “Yay! I’m going to catch the bouquet and my prince is going to ride through the doors of this very reception hall and marry me RIGHT NOW as soon as I catch this bouquet! Now out of my way, bitches!”. And then there’s me, far right in turquoise, sweaty and complaining that some family member made me go out there. “Eh, I will just hang around the periphery and blame my bad reflexes when I don’t even attempt to catch it.”.

2013. Immediately pre-bouquet toss. My cousin decided to take a picture and this was the pretty face I decided to make in protest. That, coupled with the fact that I had a few too many celebratory brewskis as evidenced by my distended stomach just MIGHT be the reason why weddings may be a great place to meet men for everyone else BUT me.


So please, do me a big favor.  If you’re getting married and you plan to invite me, don’t be offended if I sneer at your flower arrangements.  It isn’t because I think you have bad taste in flowers, I just think you have bad taste in bringing it near me.  And for the love of all that is holy, please don’t send people to pull me out on the floor when you throw the bouquet.  One of these times, I’m going to snap and start yelling, “Unhand me, you fiend!  I’m not single, I’m married to Jesus!  I’m calling the cops, dammit!  This is kidnapping!” all the while beating people with the glass of whatever alcoholic beverage I’m consuming.  So, unless you want an assault breaking up the most expensive day of your life, I would suggest you take my monetary donation to your happiness, let me drink, and let me be.