No, I haven’t picked the shape of the butter pats. I don’t know if there will be 150 guests or 15.
Why is it that as soon as a couple announces their engagement, friends and family jump ahead to the really important questions such as, “Hors d’oeuvres–passed or buffet?” Discuss.
My boyfriend, Roland, proposed this week. After the shock subsided, after I said “yes” and after a healthy swig of champagne, I realized we’d set in motion a long chain of social events that promised to quickly spiral out of our control.
So I had a proposal of my own: a one-week moratorium on wedding hoopla. No discussion of dates. No location scouting. No secret hoarding of wedding magazines or drafting potential members of the bridal party.
I’ve seen the process subsume many of my friends before they’ve had a chance to absorb the happy news. All too often, as soon as that sparkly rock appears and the first phone calls go out, attention instantly centers on the wedding and not the marriage. Well-meaning people close in from all sides: “When’s the date?” “What kind of ceremony will it be?” “How many people will be invited?”
Fewer than 24 hours after the proposal, I’m supposed to have those answers fully prepared. As with Sleeping Beauty or some other fairy-tale princess, it’s assumed women have thought through the Big Day already. Many times.
Isn’t it the moment you’ve been waiting for all your life? Haven’t you imagined every cotton candy pink nuance? Get ready for the race to the altar! It rattles every feminist bone in my body. Brrrr.
However, I’d never forgo a party, people. Don’t be foolish.
Roland and I are excited about our wedding. I also know that friends and family reel off questions because they’re happy for us, not to send me into a tizzy that will lead to screaming matches over seating arrangements or cake icing.
It’s just that once the planning starts, it doesn’t seem to stop until the exhausted newlyweds say goodnight to the last reception reveler. Funny how couples plan adventure-filled honeymoons only to end up crashing on a beach somewhere sound asleep.
I remember the months before my sister’s wedding as a bustling, sometimes fun, sometimes exasperating circus. Logistical planning threatened to dominate every conversation. In the end, everyone was pleased, but I always felt the goal could have been reached with far fewer crises.
(Luckily, I spent the better part of that year out of the country, thousands of miles from the seat of daily operations, although a diagram of the dinner plate presentation still managed to make its way to me overseas. The family required my expert opinion: spinach on the left, rice on the right?)
It’s the same with so many couples: As wedding details pile up, so does the stress. Rational thought? Out the window. A friend told me about her mother’s last-minute hysteria over a candy dish. Another let a whiny sister veto the color of the bridesmaid dresses after a temper tantrum.
Family members sometimes seem to forget the celebration is about the couple, not guest lists or a “perfect” day for everyone.
So far, Roland and I have honored the pact and steered clear of wedding planning this week, but it doesn’t prevent others from chiming in with suggestions.
“Blue? Yes, I know you look good in blue, you’ve already told me.”
I’m beginning to understand the plight of Bridezilla. Forgive her–she actually may be a monster through no fault of her own.
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Did wedding planning drive you or a friend batty? What’s the worst Bridezilla tale you’ve heard? E-mail Alison, and she’ll print the best responses.
asneumer@tribune.com
