It’s 109 days till the bonanza as I write, and my free time is increasingly filling up with wedding this and wedding that.
It occurs to me that some readers might actually be trying to follow my wedding saga week after week and I’m not doing a good job of dropping bread crumbs along the way. Others may just be curious what kind of planets may be in orbit of a groom-to-be’s head as the Day approaches.
So, herewith, a week in pre-wedding frenzy:
• Quite by accident, I have found out what my stag trip is. I wasn’t supposed to. I can’t tell my brother/best man since it will break his heart; he’s got this thing about surprises. It’s a trip to my favourite U.S. city, one I mentioned several columns back. They had a little hurricane problem as I recall.
• Email from her. Subject line: This better not be you!
The entire content of the message is a link to a sex advice column, in which a best man frets that he is expected to hire whores for the groom and his merry men.
My fiancée has a suspicious streak, but sending me an email in which she jokingly — but, underneath it, genuinely — worries I’ll be hiring a hooker? Let’s just say I’m too busy to take the time to be insulted.
• The invitations are designed and just about ready to be sent out; this comes as a result of another kind deed by my best man/brother, who is a graphic designer. They’re kind of funny. They feature our silhouttes in a sort of Victorian tableau. My fiancée is in love with them. My fellow hetero gentlemen, invitations can take on a significance we’ll never understand, and thus her happiness is mine. The alternative is angst.
• What were you doing during the Canada-United States men’s gold medal hockey game? I was at home watching it by myself, because our appointment at the damn cupcake place delayed my getting to the pub. Hope she appreciates that one.
• Deposit cheques are flying; I have little idea anymore what we’re spending. The following things ended up costing more than we alotted in the budget: food, furniture rentals, officiant, booze, my tuxedo and shoes, bridesmaids’ gifts. But at least the providers of the above can be tracked down; the DJ and live musicians have gone AWOL on us. Answer your bloody emails, fools, we’re trying to pay you!
• She just took a job that will have her working her ass off for about 20 days straight in June, right before the wedding. I’ll be left running the show as the wedding approaches. Wonderful.
• She’s watching The Bachelor. The eponymous fellow, while undeniably hunky, also tends to be lacrimose. “I’m glad you don’t cry all the time,” says my fiancée.
That makes two of us.
Image courtesy of Curtis Gregory Perry on flickr
