My Sister Set a Ridiculous Price List to Attend Her Wedding and Said I Can Only Be There If I Follow It
When my sister sent out her wedding invitations, she didn’t just include an RSVP card. She included a price list. Apparently, attending her “luxury celebration” required buying packages like it was a concert.
My relationship with my younger sister, Emily, has always been complex. My parents have always loved her, and she is now 25. Growing up, I didn’t even have to compete for attention if there was ever one. By default, Emily always prevailed.
Her nicknames included “fun one,” “pretty one,” and “baby of the family.” I, on the other hand, was the responsible one who worked hard, studied, and avoided problems.
I was supposed to love her as much as our parents did. And I did, for the most part. Until I understood that admiration was insufficient.
Emily anticipated being sponsored.
You see, I now hold a lucrative corporate position. For the first time in my life, I don’t have to check my bank account before making grocery purchases because I’ve worked my way up. However, that only meant one thing to Emily: I was her own ATM.
She began modestly.
Hey, is it okay if I borrow a few hundred dollars for a dress? Next week, I will reimburse you.”
Then it turned into, “Sis, you earn more than I do. It’s not a huge concern.
She eventually stopped acting as though she would pay me back. Additionally, my parents would always respond, “She’s your sister, Olivia,” whenever I attempted to draw a boundary. You can afford to assist.
I knew something ridiculous was going to happen when she got engaged. I simply had no idea how ridiculous it was.
Her wedding invitation arrived two weeks ago.
I’ll confess, it was beautiful. However, a second piece was tucked up nicely behind the classy invitation. I thought it was a list of registry entries. How foolish I was, oh.
It was a list of prices.
a comprehensive spreadsheet that is color-coded and includes tiers, emoticons, and “premium options.”
Thinking it must be a prank, I blinked. However, no. The following is the note at the bottom:
“All guests must select a participation tier to help support our dream wedding.”
Her “tiers” are as follows:
$100: A selfie taken by the sister with the couple 📸
$200: Get a front-row seat 💐
$250: After the reception, dinner with the couple 🍽️
$500: The guestbook table with your name inscribed on it 🖋
Honorary bridesmaid sash for $1,000 👗
$2,500: You’re allowed to throw the bouquet 🌸
$5,000: Make your name known by sponsoring a champagne toast 🥂
To make sure I wasn’t having hallucinations, I reread it three times, I promise. My sister had created a subscription service out of her wedding.
I gave her a call right away. “Emily, please tell me this is a joke.”
She chuckled. “Oh, Liv, hurry up! Try not to be so rigid. You’re thinking too little. You must exude prosperity. This is about the highest frequency of love and abundance.
“Emily,” I stated bluntly, “this isn’t plenty. It’s extortion.
She let out a gasp. “Whoa. I didn’t think my own sister would be negative.
I contacted my folks right away when I hung up.
“Dad,” I replied, “Emily sent out a wedding menu of charges.” She is requesting that people spend hundreds of dollars on items like selfies and front-row seats. You cannot reasonably believe that this is OK.
After a little silence, my father let out a sigh. “It just occurs once, sweetie. There is a lot of strain on her. Simply make the payment. It will bring her joy.
“Make her content? She is launching a GoFundMe campaign to raise money for her wedding.
“Don’t be dramatic, Olivia,” my mother said gently. Emily’s special day is today. If you don’t stand by her, you’ll regret it.”
The realization that I was alone came at that point. My parents had taken a stand.
I initially intended to completely miss the wedding. But suddenly my mind was filled with a tasty tiny spark of wickedness. Instead of letting her feel that she had “taught me a lesson about abundance,” I could make her greed the major source of amusement for the evening.
I replied in the affirmative.
Emily was thrilled when she texted me, saying, “Sis, I knew I could rely on you! I’m eager to see the tier you chose. I said, “Don’t be concerned. To pay for my packages, I’ll bring an envelope of cash.”
The following several days were devoted to creating my masterpiece. An envelope full with one hundred one-dollar bills. Clean, clean, and crisp. The title I gave it was “Payment for Sister’s Selfie Package.”
I then explained my strategy to Tina, a friend and coworker.
She started giggling. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope,” I answered as I took a drink of coffee. “I’ll behave like a consumer if she wishes to treat her visitors like such. Clients receive receipts after making cash payments.
Tina smiled. “You must allow me to in. I’ll be your moral bulwark and plus-one. And everything is being recorded by me.”
I was unable to refuse.
The moment had come. It appeared to be a fairy tale at first glance. However, something didn’t feel right.
The visitors weren’t exactly beaming with happiness. Awkward glances were exchanged, whispers were made, and some people completely avoided the present table.
I didn’t need to inquire as to why. In the end, it was discovered that each person had received a comparable price list, albeit with somewhat different “packages.” It was similar to being asked to go to business class at a wedding.
With stacks of elegant boxes, gift bags, and envelopes, the present table was a sight to behold. Like a queen gathering tributes, Emily stood there.
As I stepped up, she said, “Oh my gosh, sis!” with excitement. “You succeeded! “My favorite big sister!”
As I placed the hefty packet on the table, I said, “Of course,” “Let me just… count it out.”
She blinked. “Count it out?”
“Yes,” I answered with a smile as I took out the pile of ones. “I want to make sure you get every dollar of your Sister’s Selfie Package.”
Then I started. Slowly. Quite loudly.
“One… two… three… four…”
A few heads turned by 20.
People began to giggle at the age of fifty.
A whole audience had assembled by 80.
“98. 99. “One hundred!” With a flourish, I put down the final bill. “All right, Em. The payment has been completed.
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Emily’s face turned from tomato red to porcelain white. “Olivia! “What are you doing?”
“Just making sure I fulfill my financial obligations,” I told her in a kind manner. “You wouldn’t want anyone thinking I skipped a payment.”
Even Robert, her fiancé, was grinning while he fought a lost battle. Clearly hoping he could disappear, he stroked the back of his neck.
The remainder of the night was delightfully uncomfortable. Some of the guests even made jokes about “upgrading” their meal packages while whispering behind their napkins. People repressed laughs every time Emily passed.
By the time dessert arrived, the tension was so intense that a butter knife could have cut through it. I could see Emily was struggling to keep her composure, even though she had managed to put a grin on her face once more. Her jaw tensed whenever someone whispered or laughed.
However, I was enjoying myself immensely. I’d taken my “Sister’s Selfie,” eaten my “tier-approved” dinner, and politely put up with small chat with relatives who obviously thought I was crazy. When the bouquet toss was announced by the DJ, Tina and I were enjoying champagne.
Ladies, let’s move on! The bride extends an invitation to all single women to participate in the bouquet throw.
I was about to snort into my glass. Emily’s list of “premium experiences” included the bouquet throw. I kind of thought she was going to charge to enter the dance floor.
I wasn’t finished yet, though. The big conclusion was still to come, oh no.
I got up, tapped my champagne glass with a fork, and cleared my throat as the event came to an end and the attendees started to assemble for farewell speeches.
I said, “Excuse me,” raising my voice just enough to be heard over the tent. “I need to speak to the vendor.”
The commotion subsided. People turned. The string quartet even paused in the middle of a note.
Emily held her bouquet as she froze. Confused, she repeated, “Vendor?”
“Yes,” I replied with a smile. “The person in charge of wedding packages. I’m having some problems with my buy.
Tina almost spat her drink out.
Emily blinked. “Olivia, this is not the time—”
I interrupted, holding out my phone as if I were reading a customer service complaint. “Oh, but it is,” I said. “I was promised a sincere smile from the bride, per my sister’s selfie package. I hate to notify you that the grin did not appear as promised.
There was a rumble of laughing.
I went on, feigning to look over my made-up notes. “In addition, my chair swayed, my food was cold, and it looks like my ‘engraved guestbook name’ was… lost. I therefore want to properly ask for a refund.
That was it. The audience went crazy. All over the tent, laughter broke out. Not even the bridesmaids were able to contain their laughter. “Give the lady her refund!” someone yelled.
Emily’s cheeks were flushed. She yelled, “You’re ruining my wedding!” and clutched her bouquet as if she intended to hurl it at me.
“No, Emily,” I answered coolly as I put down my drink. “When you made it into a money grab, you wrecked it. You created something that can be bought and sold. The bill was recently paid.
The groom, Robert, put one hand over his face.
“Maybe we should just—” he whispered, “Emily,”
She whirled around him. “Don’t you dare side with her!”
The guests began to whisper once more, and loudly. “Did she really charge for dinner seats?” was one of the tidbits I heard. as well “My invite said $150 for a champagne upgrade!”
In front of everyone Emily wished to impress, her own greed had returned to haunt her.
“But don’t worry, sis,” I added with a courteous smile. I’m giving. The ones are yours to keep. Think of it as a gratuity for subpar service.
More giggling. “Finally, someone gave that girl a dose of reality,” said Grandma June, who was seated close to the front and leaned over to whisper.
With her veil streaming behind her, Emily bounded off. Robert followed her, appearing both relieved and ashamed. As if choosing which of us they were more ashamed of, my parents’ eyes darted between me and the guests, their jaws clenched in horror.
With my heart still racing but strangely light, I took a seat next to Tina again.
“That was legendary,” Tina muttered, still giggling. You are aware that this will eventually be posted online, right?
I said, “Oh, it already is,” while examining her phone. She had been filming everything.
The video had gone viral on social media by morning. The caption “Sister Requests Refund at Pay-to-Play Wedding” was uploaded by someone.
It became viral in a matter of hours. There were thousands of comments. Half incredulous, half cheering.
“She deserved that refund.”
“Who sells selfies at their own wedding?”
“I’d pay good money to see that bride’s face.”
Emily’s small “luxury event” had become a worldwide joke.
Two days later, she yelled into my phone and called me. Olivia, you made me feel ashamed! You dare! How many people watched that video, do you know?
“Yes,” I said calmly. “And maybe now they’ll think twice before monetizing their relatives.”
She said, “You’re unbelievable,” and hung up.
For a while, my parents were also incensed, claiming that I “went too far.” But as Grandma June began recounting the story at every family get-together, even they were unable to ignore how absurd her stunt had been.
Grandma would comment, “I always knew that girl would learn the hard way,” while drinking her tea. “Bless Olivia for speeding up the process.”
A little envelope without a return address arrived in the mail a few weeks later. However, the penmanship was clearly visible. There was a message and a single dollar bill inside:
“A refund has been given. Well done! At last, you received value for your money. Emily.
I burst out laughing. Perhaps she had finally learned something, and perhaps she was still upset. I got what I wanted, anyway.
I found closure and a worthwhile story.
Don’t be surprised if your family members begin requesting refunds if you treat them like clients.
Making someone pay for it first is sometimes the finest approach to teach them about giving and compassion.
