My Sister Made a Ridiculous Fee List for Her Wedding and Said I Could Only Attend If I Paid
When my sister sent her wedding invitation, I expected the usual: directions, dress code, maybe a note about the rehearsal dinner. Instead, I was greeted by a color-coded price list that made me question everything I thought I knew about family.
My relationship with my younger sister, Emily, has always been complicated.
Growing up, she was the golden child—the one who could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes. She wanted a car for her sixteenth birthday? She got it. I asked for help with college tuition? I got lectures about responsibility and the importance of hard work.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my sister. But loving someone and tolerating their behavior are two very different things.
Emily is 25 now, I’m 32, and over the years I’ve watched her glide through life while I worked sixty-hour weeks to build my career. I’m now a senior manager at a marketing firm and finally financially comfortable. Every dollar I have was earned with hard work.
That’s when Emily’s “requests” began.
At first, it was minor. Could I lend her $300 for a girls’ trip to Miami? Of course I said yes. She’s my sister.
Then it escalated: $500 for a designer handbag for a party. $1,000 to cover rent when her roommate backed out. Each time, she promised repayment. Each time, the money disappeared.
I probably should have seen this wedding disaster coming.
When Emily got engaged to Robert last year, I was genuinely happy for her. I thought maybe marriage would help her mature.
Two weeks ago, the wedding invitation arrived. I opened it at my kitchen counter, cup of coffee in hand, expecting a typical invite.
A slip of paper fell out. I picked it up, thinking it might be a note about hotels or the rehearsal dinner. Then I read it—and my coffee went cold.
It was a price list. A literal, itemized, tiered price list for attending her wedding.
At first, I thought it was a joke. But as I read each bullet point, more ridiculous than the last, I realized she was serious. The list was organized by tiers and even included emojis for each “package.”
Here’s what her “wedding price list” looked like:
$100: Sister’s selfie with the couple 📸
$200: Front-row seat near the bride 💐
$250: Dinner with the couple after the reception 🍽️
$500: Name engraved on the guestbook table 🖋️
$1,000: Honorary bridesmaid sash 👗
$2,500: Toss the bouquet 🌸
$5,000: Sponsor a champagne toast and have your name announced 🥂
At the bottom, Emily’s looping handwriting read: “Can’t wait to celebrate with you, sis! Choose your packages and bring cash or Venmo the day of! XOXO.”
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and called her.
She answered on the second ring. “Hey! Did you get the invitation? Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Emily,” I said, trying to stay calm, “what is this price list?”
“Oh, that!” she laughed. “I know it’s unconventional, but Robert and I are creating an experience. Weddings are expensive, so why not let people invest in the moments they want? It’s really empowering when you think about it.”
“Empowering,” I repeated flatly.
“Exactly! You’ve always had a scarcity mindset, Liv. Weddings are about abundance. This is your chance to celebrate love at the highest level.”
I was stunned.
“So… you’re serious?” I asked.
“Totally. You don’t have to do every package, of course, but I hope you’ll participate. It would mean so much.”
I hung up and immediately called my parents.
“Dad, did you see Emily’s invitation?” I asked.
“Oh yes! Beautiful, isn’t it? Your mother and I are so excited.”
“Did you see the price list?”
Pause. “Well… yes. Emily explained. It’s unusual, but you know how creative she is.”
“Creative? Dad, she’s charging family members to attend her wedding! She wants $5,000 for a champagne toast!”
“It’s her special day. You’re doing well—you can afford to help,” he said.
“This isn’t helping, Dad. This is extortion.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Olivia. Your sister has always dreamed of a beautiful wedding,” my mother added.
“Just pay it and be supportive,” Dad cut in. “Be the bigger person.”
Of course. That had been their solution to every conflict since childhood.
I hung up, feeling defeated. Then an idea hit me. If Emily wanted to run her wedding like a business, fine—I could play that game.
I texted her: “Count me in. I’ll bring cash for the packages.”
“OMG YAY!!!” she replied. “Knew I could count on you, sis!”
What she didn’t know: my envelope would be full of one-dollar bills—every single one.
I spent a week preparing, withdrawing $100 in singles, stacking them, and recruiting my coworker Tina to join me. She was thrilled at the impending drama.
Wedding day arrived. The venue was beautiful. Emily had clearly spent a fortune—other people’s money, apparently. But the usual warmth of weddings was missing.
Emily hadn’t just sent the price list to me—she sent it to everyone. Every guest was asked to pay for basic privileges. Even Robert’s family looked uneasy.
The ceremony was lovely. Emily looked stunning. Robert seemed happy.
At the reception, the gift table revealed my moment. I walked up with my thick envelope. Emily’s eyes lit up.
“Livvy! Is that your package contribution?”
“Sure is. But I want to count it first,” I said.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I insist. I’m very detail-oriented.”
I began counting loudly, drawing attention. Tina filmed at my side.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five…”
Emily’s smile faltered. Guests started whispering, then laughing.
“Ninety-five. Ninety-six… One hundred.”
I slapped the last bill down. “There you go. $100 for the Sister’s Selfie Package. Shall we take that photo?”
The tent erupted in laughter. Emily looked like she wanted to vanish.
Robert appeared, confused. “What’s happening?”
“Your bride is running a very interesting business model,” I said. “I’m just making sure I get what I paid for.”
We took the most awkward selfie ever. I beamed; Emily’s smile was forced.
Later, during the toasts, I stood and tapped my fork for attention.
“Excuse me. I purchased several packages today—the selfie, premium seating, the engraved mirror. I can’t find them. As a paying customer, I’d like a refund.”
The tent fell silent, then erupted into laughter.
Emily yelled, “You’re ruining my wedding!”
“No, Emily. You ruined it when you treated family like ATMs,” I said calmly. “Customers expect value. Customers can demand refunds.”
“You’re just jealous!” she shrieked.
“Enough,” Robert said firmly.
I picked up my purse. “I’m leaving. Enjoy your transactional celebration.”
The next morning, 17 missed calls from my parents, 43 texts from relatives. Grandma June wrote: “About time someone gave that girl a dose of reality.”
The video Tina took went viral in three days. The internet had a field day with “Wedding Price List Bride.”
My parents are barely speaking to me. They think I humiliated Emily on purpose—they’re right.
As for me? I don’t regret it. I spent my life being taken advantage of, told to be generous, to be the bigger person. I gave and gave—and Emily just kept taking.
I haven’t spoken to her since the wedding. Maybe one day she’ll understand. Maybe she’ll apologize.
