I want to BE married. It’s the GETTING married that’s driving me nuts.
After nearly a decade of bachelorhood, I am counting down the last couple of months before nuptialation. I’m not sure I’m going to make it.
I try to be helpful. Really, I do.
Take the tuxedo. I thought a 1970s theme would be cool since we both graduated high school back then.
“There are four of us on the guys’ side,” I said. “We could paint our faces and dress in the spandex, chains and leather of the metal band KISS.”
“Yes, you could,” she said. “But not at MY wedding.”
I decided it best not to mention my idea for the bridesmaids — though I still think striking the “Charlie’s Angels” pose would have been excellent.
It hardly seems fair that guys are allowed no input on the wedding gown, but the bride-to-be marches her man to multiple tuxedo shops as if he’s her life-sized Ken doll.
“Well, that’s nice,” she says, spinning him around like he’s planted on a Barbie fashion carousel. “But why don’t you try on these three jackets. Here, take these five ties, too. We need to see what each of them looks like.”
“But we already chose a tuxedo. Six weeks ago.”
“We might find something we like better. Isn’t this exciting!”
When my beloved showed me the text she authored for the invitations, I was elated. I’m a writer. Finally, I could be useful.
Right off the bat, I caught an error: “’Honor’ is misspelled in the line ‘… request the honour of your presence.”’
“That’s the English spelling of honor. It’s formal.”
“How about if we spell ‘presence’ as ‘presents’? It’s more direct.”
“Don’t be crass,” she said.
I retreated to my computer and set up the gift registry. That I could do — until I realized I had no clue what to list. I can’t help it if she thinks my Coca-Cola table service isn’t classy enough. Was she actually serious about towels and sheets and junk like that?
Finally, I requested a rapid-fire digital camera and a loaded laptop computer — both beyond my budget — and closed the registry, planning to return after researching 7.1 Surround Sound systems.
It turns out that apparently we DO want dishes, towels and bed sheets. And a bread maker. Who knew?
The whole thing mystifies me. Everything.
“Our wedding colors will be periwinkle and sunflower,” she told me.
“Huh?” I said.
“This,” she said, passing over two strips of material.
“Oh,” I said, “blue and yellow!”
“No, no. Periwinkle tints toward indigo. Sunflower is duskier. See?”
The next day, a buddy asked if I’d been told my wedding colors yet.
“Blue and yellow,” I said. “What were yours?”
“Purple and white,” he said.
“Bet that’s not what she called them,” I said.
“Lilac and cream, I think,” he said.
“Yep,” I said. “Purple and white.”
At least I got one thing figured out correctly — my best man is wearing a gown.
That’s only because my 21-year-old daughter accepted the honor — not honour — of being my best “man.”
But don’t ask me what kind of gown she’s wearing. It looks like a yellow dress to me.