Dudes, I care a lot about my wedding. You can probably tell that by how I write about it so much? I am not one of those breezy “it’s just another day” engaged ladies. I am a Bride with a capital B and occasional silent “zilla” suffix.
I’ve spent so many more hours and dollars tears and furrows on this wedding than I’d really care to admit.
And yet, I am regularly confronted with wedding things for which I can not summon even a crumb of enthusiasm: Table numbers. Escort cards. Out-of-town bags. Favors. Centerpieces. Pretty much everything that can be categorized as a “detail.”
All of which are things that are on the agenda for this week, while my mother-in-law is in town. Which is bizarrely shifting my thinking to a place where I believe I hate my wedding or at least don’t particularly care about it. I have a weird detail-induced false consciousness going on here.
But Viki’s picking up my slack, so boxes are being checked even though my heart is not in it right now. Viki is awesome. She pretty much single-handedly assembled all of our centerpieces this afternoon. Seriously, I pitched in with a little Windexing here and a little price-sticker-peeling there, but she was the heart and the brain of the operation. I was like, the gall bladder. Helpful, but hardly vital.
So cheers for friends and family being on Team Wedding. I’m still hoping my interest and excitement in my wedding pop back in to place in a timely fashion, but at least I’m not the only one who knows how to fly this plane. [Could I mix any more metaphors into this entry? Probably not? I’ll just end here, then.]