I swear to you, this was the world's longest engagement. I think it started in 1972. Or maybe it just seemed like forever, because our family and every other person on the planet had to deal with our very own Bridezilla, or as I nicknamed her (with affection, of course) Princess Prissy Pants.

Let me tell you that dealing with Triple P for the past year has not been a picnic. For one thing, she's a shrieker. And I don't mean shrieker in a she's-a-bit-loud kind of way. I mean shrieker as only an Italian-American woman can shriek. Eardrums shatter at the very thought of one of us on a rampage. (In case you are wondering, we're all born this way. Consider that a warning if you come across an angry woman whose last name ends in a vowel, OK?)

Anyway, Triple P has pretty much spent the last two months of her life as a single woman shrieking to anyone who still had ears that she was planning the BEST DAY OF HER LIFE and everyone had better shape up or they would not be invited to her perfect wedding. Seriously. You have no idea how much I prayed for the invitation to be lost in the mail. Sadly, like my prayers for instant weight loss without altering my eating habits or exercising, these prayers went unanswered.

The thing is, I really worried about her. I mean, she still has some life left in her (although I think we can all safely assume at this point that her fiancee/husband might be a little beaten down). But she really believes that today will be the BEST DAY OF HER LIFE and there will be none better. It's kind of sad. I mean, it's just one day. And what about the years she will spend married? Or when she has kids?

Now because I am an idiot, I spent last week very gently explaining to Princess PP that her wedding day was just a day. That her real happiness would come from the little things, like waking up next to the love of your life every morning. Or, as is the case in my life, actually cooking a dinner that doesn't burn down a kitchen or poison anyone.

OK, that wasn't my best idea. Because I swear to you, as I sincerely said these things to her, Princess PP's eyes glowed red, her head spun in a complete circle and she spewed green stuff all over me while screaming, "IT WILL BE THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE %$#@&!!!!!" Even I was scared and I grew up with her. It's not like I hadn't seen that whole head-spinning trick before.

After that, I used the tried and true technique of avoidance. Everyone in my house was on alert. If Triple P called on the house phone, nobody answered. We all stood, locked in fear as the answering machine recorded yet another tirade about flowers or some other thing that had gone wrong before the BEST DAY OF HER LIFE happened. If anyone's cell phone rang and it was Triple P, we let it go to voicemail.

Unfortunately, my parents have never avoided a situation in their lives, so they suffered. A lot. And pretty soon, my Dad was even calling my sister Bridezilla to her face. I'm not sure if my father is the bravest man on the planet or the most stupid, but I think something in him just snapped. Between the escalating wedding costs ("I must have the perfect imported, out-of-season flowers that cost $100 per bud for the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE") and the constant demands ("Everyone wears a suit! Even Junior! Because this will be the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE and that's what I want!"), I think my dad just figured he was going to get ... er ... witched to death anyway, so he might as well die fighting.

But I can only assume that on her actual wedding day, we will survive. That groom though, he might want to watch out. Look, if Triple P is this bad over a wedding, what happens when she has kids?

Laurie Sontag Laurie Sontag is a Gilroy writer and mom who wishes parenthood had come with a how-to-guide. Her columns are syndicated. You can contact her at Laurie@lauriesontag.com.