The Confession of a Failed Bridesmaid

Some biscuits I made for a recent Wedding. Aren' t the pretty.

Some biscuits I made for a recent Wedding. Aren’ t they pretty.

I once entered the organisation phase of a wedding as a bridesmaid but ended up attending the the event with the lowly title of “guest”. Oh my! I have just gasped in shock at my own admission, letting a piece of my breakfast pastry (I would not dare attempt such a confession without the comfort of some butter) fall out of my mouth onto the keyboard of my laptop. Poor me, poor bride… poor laptop!

How could I have failed at a task that concerns the careful consideration the most precious things in the world: dresses, love and cake? I adore weddings: all the pomp, all the pretty, and all the declaring of lovely and profound things. How could it have gone so wrong? I am not going to explain this is in too much detail. It’s all far too shameful (there is not enough butter in the world to counsel me through it). I will say that I have, in my many heavenly hours spent on pinterest, not yet come across a bride that has pinned a “sardonic, selfish and resentful” bridesmaid to her Dream Wedding Board.

The biscuits at their places at the wedding.

The biscuits at their places at the wedding.

Thankfully both bride and groom were of a gracious and forgiving sort. There has been no lasting effect of my misbehaviour on our friendships. There has, however, been lasting punishment at the hand of the infallible moral expert Jane Austen (or at least the imagined Jane Austen that constitutes my moral conscience). The anguish of my moral guilt is always a direct result of the thought that what I have done would have been cause for Jane Austen’s disapproval and, of course, her mockery . In Austen’s world someone who could not muster the selflessness to succeed in being a bridesmaid would be promptly sent to live in isolated shame after a dishonourable elopement with a scoundrel of little fortune (whose fine looks would, no doubt, disguise the fact that he is incapable of kindness). Worse still, in this world failed bridesmaids would probably dance conceitedly and dress, ever so slightly, ridiculously. Justice indeed. Oh, forgive me Jane! I cannot bear this.

The future holds many more weddings for me. When you are a baker of “wedding biscuits” (like those pictured in this post) you are going to find yourself around weddings. More importantly, in a stroke of madness, my dearest friend has asked me to be, not just bridesmaid, but maid of honour at her wedding next year. She is a scientist and so has no excuse for ignoring the evidence that she is probably also inviting catastrophe to be a guest at this event (where my bad attitude and darling biscuits will be in attendance too).

Her only hope is that somehow I improve on my last efforts and become a better person. I promise to try. To this purpose I have begun a careful re-study of Jane Austen works in the hope that I come out a perfect angel of domestic-morality and as sweetly charming as my biscuits .

You can see all my pretty biscuits at

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