GEORGIA'S WAYWARD BRIDE A REAL HIT-AND-RUN CASE.

Byline: Phil Perrier Local View

``Women ... can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em!''

- Every man in history

IT sounded like a bad made-for-TV movie. ``It turns out Miss Wilbanks basically felt the pressure of this large wedding and could not handle it,'' said Duluth, Ga., Police Chief Randy Belcher. No criminal charges would be brought against the fleeing bride-to-be. (The mayor, however, is considering suing Wilbanks for the cost of searching for her and a local prosecutor may file charges for falsely claiming she had been kidnapped.)

In fairness, the wedding of John Mason to Jennifer Wilbanks - scheduled for this past Saturday - was to be the matrimonial equivalent of ``Ben Hur'': 600 invitees, 14 bridesmaids, 14 groomsmen and, no doubt, an open bar.

Not surprisingly, family and friends were devastated. They had gone from the sweet anticipation of shrimp cocktail and free champagne to the horror of a kidnapping. Fourteen women had paid good money for bridesmaid dresses that now they would not get to wear even once. A mediocre band had rehearsed Kool and the Gang's ``Celebration'' to precision and now it would go unheard.

Jennifer Wilbanks had dropped the equivalent of a social atom bomb.

The owner of a cafe that volunteered to feed the searchers said he was glad she was OK, but ``this is one of the most selfish, self-centered acts I've ever seen.'' He went on to talk of the obvious anguish he saw in the eyes of Wilbanks' parents.

Also, less than thoughtful, was the way in which Wilbanks' impromptu westward jaunt rendered her fiance a homicide suspect. John Mason went from daydreaming about his honeymoon to seeing himself compared to Scott Peterson by the likes of Geraldo Rivera and Greta Van Sustern. Hard to laugh that off.

Mason's pastor said of him, ``I have never met such a strong person ... he's an incredible man.''

The pastor went on to say that Mason harbored no hostility toward his migratory maiden.

Which gets to the root of the problem. John Mason is, by all accounts, a wonderful fellow; he has a good job in his family's business, goes to church, treats people the way he would want to be treated. He is exactly the sort of man that a pretty, high-maintenance borderline psychopath eats for breakfast.

Wilbanks' ideal mate would be more along the lines of a drummer in a failing rock band (see the Mason/Wilbanks wedding band) or a stand-up comedian. She needs the kind of man who will drain her credit cards and smoke pot in her parents' basement.

Yes, this woman is disturbed - anyone who would voluntarily ride a bus from Georgia to Las Vegas and then on to Albuquerque is sick. Very sick.

It all came to an end at a pay phone at a 7-Eleven. How much easier the whole thing could have been if Jennifer Wilbanks had just eloped with the guy behind the counter.