Musings of a Chicago-Born New Yorker

The Final Wedding Straw

Logical normal me is excited about my upcoming wedding. I’m marrying a man who I love more than I ever thought possible. I will be wearing a beautiful dress and will be surrounded by hundreds of people that love me and the fiancé.

But I am not logical normal me right now. I’m apathetic bitter me. And apathetic bitter me is not looking forward to this wedding. Every fucking time I turn around, someone else gets added to the guest list. I wanted 75 people at this wedding. There will be 288. Three days ago it was 286, but now it’s 288.

The fiancé and I had a long talk the other day where I finally got out all my frustration about this guest list and his complicity in it. The last week or so has been an exercise in people asking my opinion about things I don’t care about and then telling me                                                                              my opinion on things I do care about doesn’t matter.

I can’t take this shit no mo!

At the height of my frustration, my mother tells me the last two people to get added to the guest list are the pastor and first lady of the church at which my brother is the youth pastor.

A couple things about that: 1) This man invited himself to my wedding. 2) I’ve never met him or seen a picture of him and wouldn’t know him if I saw him in the street. 3) My brother and I are not close or even distant. We have no relationship to speak of so this guy coming to support my brother for me is a stretch by any means. 4) My mother is a pushover (only when it comes to this wedding) and this is how the last 20 out of 30 people got added to this list.

So now when my father says that I’m so lucky that so many people love me and the fiancé and want to be there to share our big day, I say bullshit. There are people coming I don’t even fucking know.

My nightmare about my wedding is going to be my actual wedding. Hundreds of people eye-balling me expectantly, me searching the crowd, trying to find even one face I know well and can look to for comfort.

But, it’s going to be okay. The fiancé came up with a plan. He got me to calm down and stop freaking out. Think Runaway Bride, and maybe you’ll figure out his suggestion to me. I need to mull over it for a couple more days, but I think it will work.

Aside from that rant, I’ve been feeling considerably better about this wedding since his suggestion. I no longer feel like he’s the enemy (along with my parents), now I kind of feel like he’s my hero.

There wasn’t much I knew I wanted my wedding to be as a little girl. I knew I didn’t want to wear white. I knew I wanted it relatively small (no more than 100). And I knew I wanted lots of flowers everywhere. I thought those were simple requests that would be easy to fulfill. Silly me.

5 responses

  1. I have a theory that the real runaway bride (remember her?) didn’t run away because of committment or her future husband or any of that…she ran away because she got sick and tired of the BULLSHIT the wedding was turning into. lol

    February 1, 2012 at 20:56

    • I think you’re right! The bullshit had really reaced critical mass. But the fiance is my hero and he saved our wedding by giving me a reason to be happy about it again.

      February 3, 2012 at 00:41

  2. Easy

    Maybe I should play “Wind Between My Wings” on our marriage day. You know what I’m talking about!

    February 1, 2012 at 23:10

    • Lol, only if we do interpretive dance while it plays.

      February 3, 2012 at 00:42

  3. 288?? Whew! I’m so tempted to have a destination wedding as my parents only daughter I have already told my mom that if the list goes over 100, I’m eloping in Vegas by Elvis. LOL

    Hang in there hun.

    February 7, 2012 at 11:29