I'm probably the last person to dish wedding advice.

For starters, I'd rather blow $25,000 on a six-month trip to Europe than on catered food, rented suits and a white dress I'll never wear again.

But when your best friend is getting married, you can't help but turn into the enthusiastic wedding planner.

Luckily, I don't have to persuade this bride-to-be to spend her savings — or lack thereof — wisely.

She wants something small and intimate, maybe at the beach with a restaurant reception. Nothing fancy or frilly or foolishly expensive.

"Just something simple," she said, resolutely.

Hmm. Sounds familiar.

"Something simple" has turned into a 300-guest reception at a Waikiki hotel with floral centerpieces, an ice sculpture and chocolate-dipped fortune cookies turned into favors the night before by the entire bridal party and their moms.

The bride is stressing out, the groom disappears and the guests are forced to sit through an epic 45-minute slide show detailing the couple's progression from diapers to diamond rings.

I forewarned my best friend about this phenomenon as we headed to Borders to peruse wedding books.

But I'll be honest, it was hard not to be overwhelmed with titles like "Choosing Civility" and — my favorite — "It's Her Wedding But I'll Cry If I Want To."

It was obvious from the book titles that weddings should be perfect, easy, simple, stunning, the ultimate, a bargain and stress-free.

(When you start gravitating toward titles with the words "Complete Idiot" and "For Dummies," your problems probably go beyond just picking out a color scheme.)

So we grabbed a few enticing titles — anything with "easy" and "stress-free" worked for us — and started flipping through the pages for ideas.

After an hour of browsing planning guides and wedding magazines, my friend surfaced with some definites: a dress with cap sleeves and a V-neckline; champagne roses bundled into a bouquet; a photographer who wouldn't make her look ridiculous.

Great, I thought. We're making progress!

But a week later, exhausted with just the thought of planning her wedding, my friend scrapped everything. No V-neck dress, no invitations, no ice sculpture centerpiece.

"What happened?" I asked.

"It's just too much," she replied, breathlessly.

"Money?"

"No, work."

I couldn't blame her. I'm not even the one getting married, and I was starting to get panic attacks.

I thought back to that night at Borders and how I wandered into the wrong aisle.

I did a double-take at the titles: "No Turning Back" and "To Hell With All That."

Wow, progressive for the wedding section, I thought.

Then I looked up.

I was in the feminist section.

Reach Catherine E. Toth at ctoth@honoluluadvertiser.com.