First and foremost—congratulations on getting engaged! This is the moment you’ve not so subtly been waiting for, all of those annoying clues finally paid off. Take in this moment, cherish it forever. Because once you shared the wonderful news with your parents, your cousins, your best friends, the grocery store bag boy, and that annoying environmentalist who constantly begs you to “Save the Whales” (for a small monthly donation of $59.95), you get to plan your dream wedding! Hazzah!
You’ll begin by choosing a season, he suggests autumn but you suggest summer because the idea of your wedding falling after your birthday making you “older than him” is not an annual reminder you would like to have. You quickly realize that it really doesn’t matter when you want your wedding to take place, because ultimately the fate of your anniversary lies in the hands of the venue you chose. “What’s that? You say the venue, my dream venue, is fully booked for the next two years? Ok great!” You cry into an open bottle of wine.
After weeks of searching you finally find a perfect venue of your—albeit your tertiary—dreams! You and your loving fiancé sign the soul sucking contact: must meet a $15,000 food and beverage minimum, must apply a $2,000 holding fee, cannot cancel after 30 days of signing, an entrée choice will result in an additional $450 (read the fine print carefully for this one), and you must also promise us your first born child… et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You drink a bottle of wine.
But hey, at least the worst part is over right? Now you can relax and focus on other important things, like the photographer (he costs how much?!) and a DJ (he costs how much?!) and the officiant (he costs HOW MUCH?!) as you drink a bottle of wine you contemplate your poor career choices as you begin to realize you entered the wrong industry. You open a second bottle of wine. This time a lovely and subtle rosé.
Don’t forget the whole reason you’re doing this is to marry the love of your life, your one true soulmate! Why doesn’t your soulmate care more about invitation fonts? Must you do everything yourself? (Answer: yes.) Also, why are there so many fucking invitation fonts?! At this point, you begin carrying a bottle and a wine key with you at all times. No need for a glass, straight out of the bottle is fine.
Then the moment comes—the day you’ve been dreaming of since you were little—the day you finally get to find your wedding dress!! You have it all pictured in your minds-eye—lace, lace, and more lace. You try them on one by one. You now hate lace. You have a mini breakdown in the dressing room worried that you won’t find a dress because who knows what you like now—and also getting in and out of all these dresses is worse than training for an Ironman competition. “Can we drop the temperature about 30 degrees? K, thanks.” You open a bottle of wine.
As you’re stamping the invitations (by yourself) your loving fiancé suggests that you elope instead. You want to punch him in the jugular for even thinking that. But you love him anyway. Also, you’ve spent all this time centering the God Damn stamps…”there’s no turning back now” you think to yourself. You open a bottle of wine.
You have your first dress fitting and the dress that fit like a glove 4 months ago—can now barely zip up. Son of a biscuit eating bulldog… You blame all the wine you’ve been drinking. It stresses you out that your dress doesn’t fit. Causing you to stress out about stressing out. You think about going to the gym…but you drink more wine instead. This seems to be a winning combination. You contemplate if you’re becoming too dependent on alcohol–you open another bottle of wine to silence the question.
You check the mailbox, and you see your first rounds of RSVPs come in. How exciting! How are people honestly saying “no” to this blessed day? What do you mean cousin Carl isn’t coming? Who told Uncle Mike he could bring a plus one?! That courtesy invite turned into a yes? But uncle Fred and be near uncle Jacob because of that one “thing” that happened years ago. And now aunt Patty isn’t speaking to uncle Bradley…but his son Josh is best friends with her son Andrew…”Where the fuck am I going to sit all of these people?!” The venue isn’t big enough to accommodate a decade long feud…
You call to your fiancé from downstairs “Honey? Let’s just elope.” You share a bottle of wine.