|
|
|
Jewish World Review May 10, 2005 / 1 Iyar, 5765 Runaway, Shumaway By Marianne M. Jennings
http://www.JewishWorldReview.com |
Weddings. I warned you four years ago that these extravaganzas staged by wandering wedding coordinators were trouble. When brides began stuffing their wedding invitations with "Registered at Target and all its red circles glory" cards, we crossed a line from holy matrimony to "Love, honor, and all that folderol aside, get us the stuff we've registered for and don't forget the gift receipt." Crass and cheesy, weddings have become one-, two- and three-to-the-third-power upmanship with all the class of a Greyhound station.
Ah, Jennifer Wilbanks, the marathon runaway bride from the suburbs of Atlanta. No good ever came from having 14 bridesmaids, the size of Ms. Wilbanks' coterie.
The produce manager at Kroger's and the DMV line supervisor would have to pitch in and don the requisite tasteless dresses to get me up to 3 bridesmaids. To reach 14 maids-in-waiting, I would need conscription, fees, and/or inflatable life-size dolls from Spencer's Gifts. It takes a village for wedding parties.
Human compassion flows when it comes to the misguided, the unfortunate, and the uneducated, which, these days, covers most of the nation's youth. However, I find myself devoid of the milk of human kindness for this "troubled soul," as the commentary now runs. Her conduct is just plain loony. One must never underestimate dingbat potential in the shallow. Anyone who registers for Kate Spade silverware is trouble. Stainless from Kmart will do.
As wacky as the bride is, the television coverage was worse. The mayor, half of the bridal party (they did not fit on the television screen), a pastor, and partridges in pear trees near the site of her disappearance were interviewed. Sean Hannity has never hit deep analysis, but even he reached a new low when he concluded, in an obsequious interview with the spineless fiancé, that what was most important is that Jennifer Wilbanks is "home and safe." When was she in danger? The patrons of cross-country bus transport fall short of personal hygiene and teeth, but they are on the bus because they are about as together as Jennifer. Benign ditzes.
Women's studies programs will use the Jennifer Wilbanks story for decades to bolster their oppression theories. They should use the case to explain why the glass ceiling will never shatter. Why aren't more women CEOs? Because (a) they need 14 maids-a-courtin'; and (b) they can't cope with the stress of a wedding bash. Could there be any better evidence of the emotional paralysis, infantile instability, and all-around ignoble irrationality of women than this story? For every Jean Kirkpatrick and Margaret Thatcher, we have a Britney Spears and a Jennifer Wilbanks. Ms. Wilbanks' wedding jitters do not bode well for the strains of marriage. Childbirth should be fun — ain't no Greyhound can haul you away from the stress of 5 centimeters dilated. Does this "point me in the direction of Albuquerque" saga signal serious executive and professional material? Women! We have met the enemy and they are us.
John Mason, the fiancé, is as infuriating as Wilbanks is daft. Men, where art thine honor? Is there no dignity? Is there not a rational being who can advise this young man to flee like a bat out of hell? "We all make mistakes," was this wimp's observation. Yes, but most of our mistakes do not involve the FBI and the front page of every newspaper in the country.
Ms. Wilbanks benefits from the motto of our times, "Let's not be judgmental!" Oh, please, let's be judgmental. This situation is heaven's sign: passing judgment is okey- dokey. Send a signal to every 5-person and above wedding party in the country: Bolt before the wedding without telling us and you pick up the tab for the search dogs and DNA tests.
The blanket over Wilbanks' head as she trotted through the airport reeked of symbolism. The fairer sex, out of sheer humiliation, must be covered in public. The runaway bride cowardice and coverage saturation became more unbearable when I found a footnote of sad news. Actress Ruth Hussey left this life. She was 93 and all class.
MGM brought her into its stable of starlets to scare the prima donna out of Myrna Loy and Norma Shearer. Hussey glided through the 1949 version of The Great Gatsby as Jordan Baker. She won an Oscar for her supporting role as Liz Imbrie, photographer and Macaulay Connor (Jimmy Stewart)'s longsuffering girlfriend, in The Philadelphia Story. She was the picture of calm as she typed a story all night even as she realized Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn) was captivating her Macaulay. Hussey's detached confidence in that role should be a model for feminine mystique. When Uncle Willy, the lush, pinched her backside, she dismissed the pinch and the old pervert.
When asked to be Tracy's bridesmaid she stepped in without fussing. Here was a woman who knew how to handle men and how to defuse man-handlers. Calm, cool, intelligent, professional, and witty, regardless of stress. If the pressure had gotten to her she would have announced, with full eye contact, "I think I'll head West. I'll keep you posted." No search dogs, no Fox news, no crime labs. Just the courage to confess cold feet to her fiancé. Today we are left with a quivering lump of Jell-O, a runaway bride. In the words of Macaulay Connor, "The course of true love . . . gathers no moss."
Every weekday JewishWorldReview.com publishes what many in in the media and Washington consider "must-reading". Sign up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here.
JWR contributor Marianne M. Jennings is a professor of legal and ethical studies at Arizona State
University. Send your comments by clicking here.
© 2005, Marianne M. Jennings |
Arnold Ahlert | |||||||||||
