My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding Recap: Pink and Bling to bring on a Ring!
Alrighty, Gorgers (Gypsy term for outsiders). I had never seen any of this Big Fat Gypsy Wedding mess before. And in fact, when Flipit first assigned this show to me as my “Final”, I didn’t even realize there were two of these shows! Imagine my horror, dismay, surprise to learn this American Gypsy Wedding b.s. is a SPINOFF!!! Shit. So, anyway, enough about me, (words my friends and family would swear have NEVER come out of my mouth) . . . . here we go.
We enter Douglasville, GA RV park, home of Romanichal Gypsies – where we are introduced to 14 year old husband-hunting Priscilla, her 32 year old dad, Pat Baby, 33 year old mom, Louann & li’l 4 year old bro, Miles, by way of – let’s face it – one hell of a boring “documentary-type” voice over. Louann explains that the job of gypsy women is to stay home, clean and take care of the house. (I now realize I am going to need liquor to get through this.)
Priscilla fulfills herself cleaning and watching Miles, having completed her school education at 12. Damn, Miles is autistic. (But then, we really never see anymore of Miles. Best wishes, Boo.) Priscilla’s parents are going to have a Halloween party to show her off to potential partners. Awww . . Doesn’t this just sound like the beginning of every little girl’s fairytale romance? And the romance is further captured in a lovely twilight shot of their RV. Sweet.
There’s a top gypsy dressmaker?! Apparently. Her name is Sandra. She lives in Boston and she is not a gypsy. Priscilla places her dress order over the phone. It involves things like Scranchy (huh?) crystals; looking like a human light bulb. . . to light up the whole room. AND. . the excitement is like the amount of heat coming off the sun. This girl has a lot of issues with LIGHT!!
Okay, I’m not trying to be a snob or anything, but the idea that paving is a skill that is passed down through generations, seems a bit much. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t know dick about paving, but it doesn’t strike me as something that takes more than an afternoon or two to master.
Pat Baby’s dad, Patrick, wants to know if Pat Baby got “all drunked up” watching the football game. (Cool. I’m gonna get “all drunked up” watching this show.) He then destroys any chance he will ever have of running for office; by saying of his daughter-in-law that she’s “never worked a day in her life”. Hehe. Doesn’t he know how massively un-PC it is to denigrate a stay-at-home mom’s job? Have the Republicans seen this? Where’s the outcry?!
Wait. These women are supposed to be soaking in bubble baths and getting plenty of rest so they don’t get wrinkles? Did they get this memo? I’m seeing a massive communication disconnect here.
Hahaha. Patrick explains why Pat Baby was expelled from school by age 14: high speed chases, drinking and driving. . .nothing major he explains. Just 2 habitual offenders in a pod. We are then treated to Pat Baby thoroughly enjoying himself spraying gravel for a living.
Cut to Sandra with 11 workers now, slaving away to make pretty, pink, sparkly husband-catchin’ gear for Priscilla. Priscilla and her dad are taking her first flight ever to Boston where her finery is being created. She’s a wreck. Due to her first plane flight, you ask? Er. . no, but the dread that her finery won’t live up to her exacting design specifications (pink – hearts – and something about “scranchy” crystals. Seriously. TLC saw no need to caption that?!) Yikes! A worker is being “blinded by bling”.
Priscilla loves her dress. (Whereas I head into the kitchen to make a stiff rum and diet, before proceeding and even attempting to describe this pink, frilly, sparkly, heart-festooned, poufy eruption of orgasmic proportions.) So. Dad loves it too and wishes he were a cross-dresser. Wow. Priscilla is really tall. Sandra’s seamstress, Diane (who ABSOLUTELY did NOT get the memo about relaxin’, soakin’ and fighting wrinkles) explains that the ruffles on this dress were made from enough fabric to cover half a football field and encourages us to think about that. No thanks, Diane.