AUTHOR'S NOTE: I got the idea from various places. The TV show, "Bridezilla," for one, and something my sister was noodling with for another. The Monkees belong to themselves, and Franky, Aimee, and any other characters belong to me. I also strongly advise reading my fanfic, "Monkee Magic" before reading this, otherwise some things may not make sense.
It was a typical Saturday afternoon in the month of May at the Monkees Pad. The boys were rehearsing a song, just in case somebody called wanting them for a gig. Peter's thirteen-year-old nephew, Franky, was watching them. As the Monkees were rehearsing, the phone rang.
"I'll get it," Franky said.
"If it's the landlord, tell him we're not home," Micky said. Franky nodded, and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" he said. "Oh, hi, Aimee, what's happening?"
Aimee Armbruster was a friend of Franky's from school. He had a bit of a crush on her.
"Uh huh," Franky said, after listening to what Aimee had to say. "Uh huh. Uuuuuhhhhh huh. Well, I don't know . . . . I'll have to check. Hang on a sec. Hey guys, Aimee wants us to do her a huge favor."
"Sure, what is it?" Davy asked.
"She wants you guys to play for her cousin's wedding for nothing," Franky said. "See, she told her that she knows somebody who knows a band . . . . that somebody being me, of course."
"A wedding, huh?" Mike said. "When is it?"
"When is it?" Franky asked, going back to the phone. Then he covered the receiver with his hand, and turned toward the Monkees. "Next month, on the twentieth."
"I just have one question," Peter said. "How come we're not getting paid?"
"How come they're not getting paid?" Franky asked, going back to the phone. "Why'd she do that? What do you mean you won't tell me? Hang on."
"What now?" Davy asked.
"She said her cousin can't pay the band because she fired her wedding planner," Franky said. "And since she fired her wedding planner, she spent too much money on her dress, caterers, the cake, the reception hall, and practically everything else and she doesn't have anymore money in her budget for a band. I asked her why her cousin fired her wedding planner, but she won't tell me."
"I'm gettin' a funny feelin' about this," Mike said. "I don't think we should accept this gig, you guys."
"Come on, Mike!" Davy shouted. "A job's a job."
"Yeah, but we're not gonna get paid for it," Mike said.
"It's exposure," Micky pointed out.
"Yeah, someone might see us and sign us up for a record deal," Peter said. Mike heaved a sigh.
"Okay, shotgun," he said, turning to Franky. "Tell her we'll do it. I get the feelin' we're gonna regret it, but we'll do it."
"Check," Franky said, and then went back to the phone. "You still there, Aimee? Yeah, Mike said they'll do it. They might regret it, but they'll do it."
The next day, the Monkees went over to Aimee's house in order to get the information they would need for this gig, and to meet the bride and groom. Aimee answered the door, and let them in.
"Hi guys," she said. "Come on in. Thanks for agreeing to this. My cousin wanted a big, traditional wedding. She sent two thousand invitations."
"Two thousand invitations?!" Mike shouted.
"You must be joking!" Davy shouted.
"A little much, don't you think?" Micky asked.
"You don't know my cousin," Aimee said, shrugging.
"What's her name?" Mike asked.
"Brace yourselves," Aimee said. "Her name is Fanny."
"Fanny?" Mike asked, giving Aimee a weird look.
"Yeah!" a small voice shouted from down the hallway. "And she is one, too!"
The voice belonged to Aimee's seven-year-old sister, Ellen. She was going to be the flower girl in the wedding, and she was not looking forward to it one bit.
"What do you mean by that?" Micky asked, a little confused.
"If you stick around long enough, you'll find out!" Ellen shouted, and she walked down the hall and through the kitchen to get to the stairs to the basement. "And you'll also find out why her wedding planner quit!"
"I thought you said she fired her wedding planner," Peter said.
"Well . . . . Fanny said she fired her," Aimee said. "And the wedding planner said she quit."
"So it's kinda six of one, half dozen of the other," Micky said.
"I take it your cousin's not the easiest person to get along with," Davy said.
"Yes," Aimee said. "She's a bit, er . . . demanding."
"That's an understatement!" Ellen called from the basement.
"Oh, we've dealt with those types before," Peter said.
"Yes, but you haven't . . ." Aimee started.
"A tut, tut, tut, tut," Micky added. "I think I can handle this. If we can handle the snobby boyfriend of a girl Peter's got a crush on, we can surely handle a demanding bride!"
"You'll be sorrrrrryyyyyyy!" Ellen called up from the basement again.
Aimee ignored her sister, and led the boys into the den, where her parents were sitting a girl in her early twenties with platinum blond hair, who didn't look very friendly. Sitting next to her was a slightly older, balding, pasty man with a black droopy mustache and round spectacles.
"Hi, Mac, hi Gina," Davy said to Aimee's parents. "'Ow's it going?"
"Hi, boys," Mac said. "I'd like to introduce you to our niece, Fanny Buttman."
Franky nearly lost it. He snerked, and covered his mouth, trying not to burst out laughing. He stopped immediately when Peter nudged him in the arm.
"It's nice to meet you, Fanny," Peter said, extending his hand to Aimee's cousin.
"I don't shake hands with long-haired weirdos," Fanny said, turning up her nose.
"So, is this your . . . . uhhh . . . ." Mike said, referring to the man next to her, "father, or somethin'?"
"Uh, no . . ." Fanny said, rolling her eyes. "This is my fiancé, Wilton Toaste. Say hello to my baby cousin's friends, hon."
"Yes, dear," Wilton replied, nasally, sounding every bit as droopy as he looked. In fact he was practically a milquetoast.
"We're pleased to meet you Mr. Toaste," Davy greeted as she shook his hand.
"Yes, sir," he replied in a very unenthusiastic tone of voice, and giving Davy a handshake so limp, it reminded the British Monkee of a dead fish.
"Yee-ah," Micky grinned a bit uneasily. "Okay, fine."
"I think I saw a relative of his on an old Looney Tunes cartoon," Franky said. Once again, Peter nudged his nephew in the arm. Franky had a bad habit of speaking before thinking.
"Well, Fanny," Mike said, "I don't know what Aimee told you about us, but . . . ."
"Whatever," Fanny interrupted, handing Mike a piece of paper. "I'm sure you'll be fine as long as you play everything on this list, and nothing but this list. Wilty, be a peach and bring our bags to our hotel, would ya? I'll meet you there shortly."
"Yes, dear," Wilton obediently replied.
"Don't ya just love a man who obeys your every whim?" Fanny gushed. "Aimee, dear, when you're old enough for love, you should find yourself a nice boy that will do everything for you!"
"Yeah, right . . ." Aimee said, hesitantly.
"I'm just curious," Franky said. "How did you end up falling in love with that guy?"
"Oh, I'm not marrying out of love, silly goose!" Fanny shouted. "I'm marrying him because he's obedient . . . and loaded!"
"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Mike said.
After the introductions, the group went to the chapel where the wedding was to be held. It was a small chapel, painted white, with a blue painted steeple at the top.
"Well, at least the outside matches the decor," Fanny said. "Now let's see the inside."
"Decor?" Micky asked.
"Yes, dear," Fanny replied. "This is a blue and white wedding. Those are the only colors allowed in the near vicinity save for the flower stems and the grass."
Fanny then looked at the Monkees, and studied them.
"Say," she said, "is it possible for you guys to dye your hair? Maybe bleach it blond? Or at least dye it blue."
"No!" Mike shouted. "We are not gonna dye our hair blue . . . and especially not bleach it, either!"
"Oh very well," Fanny said, grudgingly. "I'll allow dark hair then. I'm already making an exception for Uncle Mac. Why not make an exception for the hired help, too?"
"Hired help?" Mike repeated. "Now just what's that supposed to . . . ."
"Come along, I don't have all day," Fanny said, snapping her fingers as she entered the chapel.
Mike followed her inside, about ready to pummel the bride-to-be, but the other Monkees stopped him before he could.
"Mike, take it easy," Davy said. "Aftah all, it's only for one day. Keep telling yourself that."
"It's only for one day," Mike repeated after taking a deep breath and clapping his hands together in front of his forehead before moving them down his chest. "It's only . . . one . . . day."
"Is this a case of pre-wedding jitters, or is she always like this?" Micky asked.
"She's always like this," Aimee simply stated before she followed her snooty cousin inside the chapel.
"Yeah, I thought so," Micky said.
Unfortunately for Fanny, the interior of the chapel did not meet her standards. The carpet was a burgundy color, and the pews parts of the wall, and the altar were made out of cherrywood.
"Ugh," Fanny grunted in disgust. "Who was responsible for these designs?"
"I don't know," Gina said, shrugging. "It's been here for at least a hundred . . ."
"Everything needs to be painted over in white!" Fanny interrupted her aunt. "The carpet needs to be replaced as well. Make it royal blue. Unfortunately I can't say much about it's small size, but it'll do."
Fanny then turned on her heel and strutted out of the church. Mike looked at the fine polished cherrywood in dismay. He thought the color fit the chapel. He looked over toward Mac and Gina, who were talking with someone from the church about what Fanny wanted for her wedding.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," he said to Aimee, "but are your folks actually gonna talk somebody into paintin' this place and replacin' the carpet?"
"Yes," Aimee sighed. "Fanny's mother is my dad's younger sister, and she's kind of the favorite, if you know what I mean. Fanny's an only child, and Aunt Norma and Uncle Earl indulge her every whim, and so do my grandparents. Mother and Daddy think they should indulge Fanny too, just because it's her wedding day."
"Lord, give me strength," Mike prayed while looking at the ceiling.