So, in my last blog, I celebrated being a “mature bride.” Well, today, I did something completely bonkers. Some would call it less than mature, but it felt so good…
Today, I calmly walked into my fiance’s office while he was out. I dumped a hundred save-the-date postcards all over his desk and taped a dozen others to cover his computer screen. I stuffed the book he is reading full of save-the-dates and put more in his cereal box. Yet more went into his coat pockets and shoes. Two hundred save-the-dates (the number of people his family now wants to invite) have been planted, ready to inflict guilt (and maybe papercuts) as he discovers them.
Here’s why I did this:
You may remember that my fiance’s family is having a *little* trouble getting me their guest list, even though I started asking them for it a year ago. To make matters worse, my fiance makes George RR Martin look punctual, when it comes to deadlines. The wedding is six months away, so this is becoming a problem.
So, last week, I said to my fiance, “Fuck this shit. I will send a save-the-date to everyone you have entered on the spreadsheet by Sunday Jan. 24. After that, I’m lighting the remaining save-the-date cards on fire. Nobody else will get a save-the-date.”
“That sounds … reasonable,” he responded.
After a week of me reminding him to call his mom and finalize his family’s guest list, he woke me up this morning saying, “It’s done. I’ve entered all the names. I’m going to J’s house so he can tell me about his new start-up.”
I had a nice lunch, fired up Google Sheets and readied my pen for a save-the-date-addressing sesh.
And the fucking spreadsheet was full of misspellings, place-fillers (like kid 1, kid 2, kid 3 and “need address”), missing last names, and incomplete addresses. And then I realized something even worse — his family had originally asked for 100 slots on the guest list. This new list was just over 200. That would put our already big guest list over 400.
So, I started texting my fiance:
“Hey does J’s start-up have anything to do with monitoring a bride’s heart rate and sending updates to her fiance when it goes above the point where she requires hospitalization?”
“Do you think your mom’s best friend will be totally fine with it if I put “husband what’s-his-name” and “kid” on the envelope?
“I know your cousin has kids. Why aren’t they on the spreadsheet?”
He helpfully suggested that I work out the details with his mother if his work wasn’t “good enough.” You know, after I’d already spent my precious spare time the past few months getting HIS friends’ addresses, our mutual friends’ addresses, and my own family’s addresses. So, after I’ve worked my ass off doing more than my fair share, I get the added bonus prize of … nagging his mother for information?
No, I do not think that’s how it should work.
So, I got some matches, walked the box of save-the-dates out to the dumpster and prepared to send him a video of them burning. But then I realized we probably signed something in our lease that said we couldn’t light fires on property, especially when our state is going through a historic drought.
So, I went with the “Save-the-Date Easter egg hunt” described above. If he wants all 200 of those people to get save-the-dates, he has to fucking find them first.
I don’t even want to think about what sending the actual invitations is going to be like, but I just searched “blow torches” on Amazon, so I will be ready.
Did wedding planning ever bring you to the point of lighting shit on fire? What did you do to relieve the stress?