He rapped on the door and heard giggles and footsteps. The door opened just a crack to partially reveal a smiling bride’s maid. “Are you the photographer?”

“Yep. Am I too early? She wanted some photos of all of you getting ready.”

“Umm, we’re all dressed for the most part, let me see.” The door closed. He listened as she asked the bride and other girls if a man could come into the room.

They were ready- at this point, it was all makeup, hair and shoes. He came in, explained the normal pictures he liked to take in these situations, and then asked them to act as if he wasn’t there, to get some candid shots. He walked around the room, trying not to be invasive, and snapped photos of their preparation. As he came around to the right of the bride, he noticed a giant brown spot on her dress. “Hey, did you spill something on your dress?”

The bride contorted her face into an ugly sneer and snapped, “You don’t see anything at all!”

“Isn’t there something you could use to take it out? It’s going to be in all your photos.”

“Just take pictures from the other side.”

He bit his tongue and wondered what the story was. He moved in closer to get some pictures of her face in the mirror, but stopped because she had what looked like corn stuck in her teeth. “Do you have a toothbrush? You don’t want that in your pictures and I’m sure your fiancee won’t…”

Another glare told him to leave it alone. He was beginning to feel annoyed, mostly because he was expecting all sorts of complaints when she actually saw the pictures. He was hoping that by saying something now, they wouldn’t demand discounts on their prints and accuse him of being a cruddy photographer.

He nearly lost it when she bumped her head and messed up part of her hair. A chunk of it was sticking out at an awkward angle. This brunette mess would definitely stand out against the white of her dress. Instead of asking the bride directly, he asked the maid of honor to fix it. She looked at him questioningly before stealthily sneaking up behind the bride in a covert attempt to fix her hair. “Don’t freaking touch me!” was the outraged response. He tried to protest, but she interrupted: “Should I have my fiancee talk to you about this? He’d be incredibly upset knowing that you’re harassing his bride. No husband lets another man get away with this kind of behavior!”

By this point, everyone was annoyed. Great job, photographer, you showed up and killed the party. He thought about the groom- the poor man was going to marry this woman? He wondered if she couldn’t take any suggestion as anything but criticism. He’d been in this business for a long time and couldn’t remember any woman being like this before. All of the others cringed at the thought of having food in their teeth, a crazy strand of hair or worse, a giant brown stain on their dresses. He’d given up on expecting to be paid for this job- He knew that as soon as they were back from their honeymoon and met with him to pick pictures for printing, she’d freak out that he couldn’t hide these things and there was no way he was going to “photoshop them out.”

He left that day knowing that he’d done his job. He’d captured scenes of the event. It was the snarky woman and her husband who’d have to deal with her ugliness later.

Ephesians 5:25-27