Bridget the Bossy Bridezilla

"Of all the fool things to do!" shouted the red-faced Mr. Marshall, storming forward and confronting Craig. "You stupid, stupid, stupid boy! Do you exist simply to embarrass your mother and I? It's lucky your brother and brother-in-law were here to rescue you. Why can't you be like your brother, Ben would never do anything so idiotic like you, you bloody idiot ..."

As Mr. Marshall continued to give his younger son a tongue-lashing, Charlene threw a towel around Elvis, making a big fuss of him and gushing that he was a hero. Ben's eyes drifted towards the O'Connell family. Bridget stood with her father, her mother on one side. As cold and wet as he was, Ben could not help but notice that Mr. O'Connell's arm was over Bridget's shoulder, his right hand uncomfortably close to his daughter's right breast.

Bridget's expression was cold and humorless. She glared at Ben, the warning, "I'm totally embarrassed and angry by what happened today, I hold you personally responsible and I'm going to make your life a living misery to pay for this," very clear in her eyes.

*

Ben and Elvis, the heroes who saved the day, experienced very different evenings.

Charlene continued to make a big fuss of Elvis all afternoon, telling everyone what a hero he was and how proud she was of him; no yelling and no swearing. She treated Elvis to one of his favorite meals for dinner; an entire family sized bucket of fried chicken and chips plus a hamburger, all washed down with several bottles of beer and a whole cheesecake for dessert. Fried chicken, chips, hamburgers, beer and cheesecake were among the last things Elvis should be consuming given his obesity problem, but Charlene's motivations for once in her life were motivated by love and pride.

Ben found himself on the couch that night, despite the fact that it was his brother who committed one of the biggest faux pas in the history of Australia, if not the world; and once again it was Craig's decision to jump into the Brisbane River in a foolish attempt to swim across to the other bank when lacking the skills to complete this athletic feat.

Bridget's frosty mood continued for some days, and even when it lifted things were hardly great as she became more and more neurotic and stressed by the day as the wedding drew nearer and nearer. One morning Ben found himself presented with a written list of things he and his friends could and could not do on his buck's night. Ben simply took it in his stride and did not dare present Bridget with an equivalent list of things that she and her friends could or could not do on her hen's night, both of these to be held on the Saturday night one week from the wedding.

On the Friday two weeks before the wedding, Ben was enjoying a relatively peaceful day at work when his boss, Mr. Gallagher called him into his office.

"You asked to see me?" Ben asked.

"Ah yes Ben, have a seat," said Mr. Gallagher. "You are aware that Kevin is away today?"

"That's right, he called in sick the past few days," said Ben. It was of no surprise to Ben that Kevin had fallen ill. His colleague had become increasingly stressed dealing with the nightmare client Tracy from the Gold Coast, and this was bound to have some effect on his health in the end.

Gallagher nodded. "It turns out that Kevin has measles. It's unusual for adults to contract measles, but it can prove more serious than with children so Kevin may be absent from work for several weeks."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Ben. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, I've been going through Kevin's current work portfolio. There's one particular job on the books that seems to be one of those problem jobs. Kevin has been working with a client on the Gold Coast, a Mrs. Tracy Kovich, about building a guest house for their property. Perhaps Kevin may have mentioned this?"

"Kevin made mention of it in passing," said Ben casually.

"I spoke with Mrs. Kovich by telephone today," said Gallagher. "She expressed concerns about how things were going with Kevin, and was not pleased about having to wait another two or three weeks for Kevin to return. I said that I would assign one of my brightest and best architects to her file. That's where you come in, Ben. I would like you to meet with Tracy Kovich, and discuss the plans for the guest house and reach a resolution. Her husband is a valued commercial client of this firm, so the last thing we want is to lose their account."

"Yes of course," said Ben, hiding his apprehension at having to deal with a client who had stressed his co-worker no-end, and was referred to as 'Cyclone Tracy'. "When would you like me to meet Mrs. Kovich?"

"I've already arranged that," said Gallagher. "You'll meet her at 6.30 this evening at her house in Broadbeach. I'll give you the address."

"Tonight?" Ben was dismayed at having to drive all the way to the Gold Coast through busy Friday night traffic in southern Brisbane, Logan and the northern suburbs of the Gold Coast to reach Broadbeach. Then again, a night in with his oh-so-loving fiancée was not the most appealing prospect either.

"Sorry about the short notice Ben, but Mrs. Kovich was insistent that somebody meet her today at her house at the time she stated," said Gallagher.

"Okay," said Ben, taking the address and Kevin's files. He intended to stop home on his way to leave Bridget a note; she was probably seeing patients at the moment so he could not reach her by phone and the receptionist at the dental practice had a habit of not passing on messages or getting them wrong.

However, as Ben pulled into the driveway he was a little surprised to see Bridget's car parked in the garage. Going inside, he could smell roast beef cooking and Bridget emerged from the kitchen, wearing a tight white tee-shirt and skin-tight jeans that accentuated her nice, petite figure, her feet bare.

"Oh hi Ben, you're home early," said Bridget cheerfully, reaching up to give him a kiss.

"Hi honey, you are too," said Ben. Bridget rarely if ever got home from work this early.

"It was going to be a surprise," said Bridget. "I worked my schedule so all my patients were out of the way in the morning so I could come home and cook you all your favorites for dinner, along with your favorite wine." Bridget smiled suggestively, and took hold of Ben's tie, tugging on it gently. "And after that, I'm going to show you what you can look forward to on our honeymoon."

Ben felt horrified and guilty. It wasn't common for Bridget to be so nice and do something special for him spontaneously, and she had chosen tonight of all nights, the night he couldn't do it.

"What's wrong?" asked Bridget, noticing his expression.

"Bridget, I'm really sorry but I have to go to Broadbeach and see a client this evening," said Ben.

"Can't you cancel your meeting with your client?" asked Bridget.

Ben shook his head. "Sorry honey, but this is really important."

"More important than me? More important than us spending time together?" Getting into a huff, Bridget turned on her bare feet and made for the kitchen.

Ben followed her. "I'm sorry Bridget, but this all looks great. I won't be gone all night; how about you keep it warm and we can have it when I get back ..."

"Just don't worry about it Ben, just don't fucking worry about tonight, or me or anything else, okay Ben?" Bridget slammed a pot down on the sink, causing crockery to rattle. "Obviously work is more important to you, so buy your own fucking dinner."

"Come on Bridget, that's not fair," said Ben. Bridget was extremely controlling about 49 percent of the time, cold and distant another 49 percent and the remaining two percent she was nice and normal, although this had been few and far between in recent times. Tonight was definitely the controlling Bridget. "I'm working, I'm not going out drinking."

"I don't care Ben, stop wasting my time." Bridget was seething now.

"That's right, you don't care," said Ben.

Bridget glared at Ben with her steely blue eyes, expecting him to back down and apologize. When this did not happen, she snapped, "Are you accusing me of not caring about you?"

"That's right, you only care about yourself. You don't care about me at all." Ben stood firm. "All you ever want to do is control me."

Bridget stood stunned for a few seconds, but just when Ben thought she might back down her mouth opened and a stream of insults was yelled in his direction, Ben responding with yelling of his own and from there Ben and Bridget got into the biggest fight they had ever had, yelling at each other for 15 minutes about everything and anything. It made Charlene and Elvis look like a left-wing, academic couple who resolved relationship disputes using calm problem solving techniques from a text-book. Ben only held back about mentioning Bridget's weird relationship with her father; even though angry he could see no good could ever come from talking about this aloud.

Ben could see that the arguing was going around in circles, and regardless he still had to go and meet the client on the Gold Coast.

"I can't stand here all night, I still have to go out to meet a client," he said, collecting his keys. "I think we need to calm down."

He went to touch Bridget on the shoulder, but she slapped his hand away and aimed a kick at his groin with one of her bare feet. "Piss off!" she spat angrily.

"Now you stop that!" yelled Ben, pushing Bridget's foot away. He had always secretly fantasized about his fiancée's bare feet making contact with his groin, but during passionate activity in the bedroom, not during an attempt to kick him in the balls during a fight.

Ben stormed out the front door, and Bridget stormed into the kitchen. She grabbed the vegetables she had cut up and ran for the front door, intending to throw them at Ben's car, but then thought better of it and turned back. Her petty and vindictive side thought up a much better plan. Ben could not resist roast beef and vegetables, so she would finish cooking the meal and leave some leftovers for him after she had added another special ingredient to the food - her own spit.

Bridget's black mood continued as she finished cooking, and the front doorbell rang. Making sure she had turned off the stove, Bridget strode to answer it and to her great displeasure found the younger of the Marshall brothers Craig standing there, as usual dressed like a slob in a black tee-shirt and jeans. She had not seen him since the debacle at the Brisbane River several weeks earlier, but was still furious about the events of that day.

"Hi Bridget, is Ben here?" asked Craig.

"No, he's not, is there anything I can help you with or can I leave a message?" Bridget asked dismissively.

"Nah, I just wanted to give Ben this," said Craig. He took a fifty dollar note from his wallet.

"Why are you giving Ben fifty dollars?" asked Bridget.

"A few weeks ago I ran out of money so Ben loaned me ..." Craig began, before Bridget cut him short.

"Ben loaned you money?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah."

Bridget fumed internally. She had known nothing about her fiancé lending his loser younger brother money and was anything but pleased. However, it gave her more ammunition to hurl at her fiancé when he got back, so she was keen to learn more. She opened the door. "Come in, Craig."

"Thanks Bridget," said Craig, entering without wiping his dirty sneakers on the doormat and holding out the fifty dollar note, answering Bridget's first planned question by his next statement. "This isn't all of it, but if you could tell Ben I'll get the rest as soon as I can."

"Sure, I'll tell him," said Bridget. Trying to sound casual, she asked. "How much did he loan you?"

"Two hundred," said Craig. "I had to pay rent, and then I got a speeding fine so I was a bit short. Ben knows I'll pay him back like I do all the time."

"All the time?" Bridget asked. "How many times has he loaned you money?"

"About five or six," said Craig.

"Five or six," repeated Bridget, again keeping her voice even but seething internally. Ben would pay dearly for loaning his dickhead of a brother money without her knowing about it.

"It could be about eight or nine, I've kind of lost count," admitted Craig. He looked around. "So where is Ben anyway?"

"Out, gone to the Gold Coast for the evening," said Bridget. She went into the kitchen to finish carving up the roast beef, Craig following her.

"Is that roast beef?" he asked, his eyes wide and Bridget could almost see him salivating.

"Go on, have some," sighed Bridget.

"Yeah, fucking awesome!" exclaimed Craig, scooping a large quantity of roast beef and vegetables - although none of the green ones - onto a plate. "You got any tomato sauce?"

With great reluctance, Bridget took a bottle from a cupboard, Craig squirting a ridiculous amount all over his dinner and showing his immaturity by laughing at the flatulent noise the bottle made as he squeezed out the sauce.

Bridget got some dinner for herself and sat opposite Craig, trying not to look at her soon-to-be brother-in-law directly as he shoveled mouthful after mouthful of food into his mouth. The prissy, snobby Bridget felt revulsion at Craig's table manners, but it could be worse - she had seen Craig eat spaghetti in the past, which was not a pretty thing to observe.

"So, um, did you do dentist things at work today?" queried Craig, in an attempt to make conversation.

"Well I am a dentist, so yes," said Bridget.

"It must be so cool pulling out people's teeth," said Craig. "I'm a cook."

"Really?" asked Bridget. She knew Craig did not work in a restaurant, nor had he done an apprenticeship in the trade, so wondered what dimwit Craig was talking about now. But most of the time, probably even Craig himself had no idea what Craig was talking about.

"Well, I cooked hamburgers, fried chicken and chips at work today," said Craig. "But I burned the chips and my boss was pissed off at me, so I had to go and supervise a kids' party. One of the kids' mums shouted at me, when I spilled a milkshake all over her daughter. But it wasn't my fault."

"That's fascinating Craig," sighed Bridget, hoping Craig would finish eating and leave.

"So, can I have some more?" asked Craig, finishing his food and looking in the direction of the kitchen.

"Go ahead, help yourself."

"Cool!" Craig made for the kitchen bench and scooped more meat onto his plate. "You're a good cook, does Ben know what he's missing out on?"

"Your brother is a pig," said Bridget, still fuming about the huge fight. "Right now he's probably eating his dinner out of a trough with other pigs, so no, I don't think he knows what he's missing out on."

Craig laughed. "It took you this long to realize that my brother is a pig?" he asked. He sat down opposite Bridget and began eating again. "Speaking about brothers and sisters, I'm sorry about what happened with your sister Caroline the other week. I was thinking about it, and I might have been a bit ..."

"Insensitive, intrusive, obnoxious, crass, tactless, stupid, hurtful?" Bridget prompted.

"Yeah, sorry," said Craig. "I didn't know your sister wanted a baby so much, it must be hard that she can't have them. So whose fault is it? Her fault or her husbands?"

"Craig, that's not really the type of things we talk about," warned Bridget.

"Oh, sorry," said Craig. "Sort of like the time at that party when you had a really bad stomach ache, and I asked if it was your period?"

"Yes, exactly like that," snapped Bridget, mortified that Craig had brought up that embarrassing memory.

Craig took even more huge mouthfuls of dinner, eating with the ferocity of a starving crocodile before pushing his plate away. "Fuck, I'm stuffed," he said. "And I need to chuck a piss. Can I use your toilet?"

"Go ahead," said Bridget, pointing in the direction of the main bathroom.

"Thanks, I'll make sure I put the seat down," said Craig. "Ben said you get pissed off when he leaves the toilet seat up."

"Oh, he does, does he?" asked Bridget, more to herself as Craig vanished from sight around the corner. The young man walked down the short hallway, and into the bathroom. He closed and locked the door behind him and turned without looking, not noticing Pumpkin to his right and standing on the dog's paw.

Pumpkin yelped loudly and took a snap at Craig's ankle, the shock also causing the dog to urinate all over the floor. Equally shocked by the dog, Craig yelled "Shit!" at the top of his voice, before slipping over on a bathmat and falling into a set of shelves, bringing these and their contents down on top of himself with a mighty crash.

Hearing the noise, Bridget sighed angrily and rushed to the bathroom, knocking on the door. "What's happened in there, Craig?"

"Um, nothing," came his response.

"It doesn't sound like nothing, open the door," demanded Bridget.

"Um, maybe ..." began Craig.

"Not maybe, do it now," snapped Bridget, before the door was opened by a sheepish Craig and an angry Bridget saw the wrecked bathroom shelves with a puddle of urine over the floor as her dog came running out.

"I, um, sorry, I um, stood on the dog and it pissed itself and then ..." Craig backed away and again lost his balance, crashing into the shower screen and knocking it off its hinges.

"Shut up Craig, just shut the fuck up!" ordered the exasperated Bridget. "Go and use the ensuite bathroom."

"Should I help you clear up in here?" Craig wanted to know.

Bridget could not take any more of his incompetence. "No, just go and use the other bathroom and try not to wreck it too."

Leaving Bridget to clean up the mess, Craig went into the main bedroom and through to the adjoining bathroom. Putting up the toilet seat, he stood and had a pee before finishing and flushing the toilet. He turned to leave and had got as far as opening the door, when he remembered the toilet seat and went to put it down.

Glancing around the bathroom, Craig noticed two clothes hampers one blue and one pink in the corner, and wondered if the blue one was for Ben, and the pink one was for Bridget. Craig, who could well have been the hypothetical cat that curiosity killed, decided to find out for himself.

Lifting the lid on the pink hamper, Craig glanced inside and immediately noticed a bra and several pairs of panties, so he was obviously right. Craig replaced the lid and went to leave. Unfortunately, if there was a good choice and a bad choice to be made, in 99 percent of cases Craig would make the bad choice.

He returned to the pink hamper and lifted the lid, this time reaching in and picking up a pair of Bridget's knickers, white bikini panties with pink elastic around the waist and legs. Holding up Bridget's knickers, Craig admired them and starting to get hard, fingered the double cotton saddle with his fingers.

Looking closer at the crotch of the panties, Craig could see the creamy colored stains left by Bridget's vagina and was unable to resist lifting the panties to his nose. His erection making his undies and jeans tighter and tighter, Craig took a deep sniff enjoying Bridget's feminine smell as it entered his nostrils. He sniffed Bridget's knickers again and once more absorbed the musty scent of pussy, and fantasized about what the source of the smell - Bridget's vulva - actually looked like. He had always thought Bridget was kind of a bitch; a prissy, stuck-up and bad-tempered yuppie, but fuck was she hot.

He took another deep sniff on the cotton saddle, when he heard a female voice behind him. "And what the fuck are you doing, Craig?"

Craig nearly jumped through the ceiling in shock and turned to see Bridget, arms folded, regarding him with a severe expression on her face.

"Um, nothing," stammered Craig.

Bridget strode forward on her bare feet and snatched the panties out of his hand. "So, getting my knickers out of the clothes hamper and smelling them is nothing? You pervert."