It’s probably time for me to update you all on all the Wedding News that’s fit to print. In horse racing parlance we have hit the three quarters pole, not quite the home stretch, and I haven’t yet gone to the whip, but at least I can see the finish line off in the distance.
Anyone who has gone through this wedding business will tell you that weeks go by, even entire months without a single bill. Then, all of a sudden like a freak tsunami wave, demands for payment arrive at a terrifying pace. The other day we got a call from our bank concerning a series of odd purchases that according to Wells Fargo were “unusually large and disturbingly frequent.” (Yeah, my sentiments exactly). And yes…we have a “wedding credit card.” I paid off the balance on the only credit card I have about a month ago and declared it so in an attempt to keep all this spending organized and in one place. Well, it’s “organized” and “in one place” alright, so much so that my bank feels concerned enough to issue a WTF warning!
Decisions are being made at a dizzying pace here at Nuptials City. In the past two weeks alone bridesmaid’s dresses were chosen, flower girl dresses purchased, center piece designs were finalized and the all-important meeting with the flower lady took place without incident. My living room is now packed ceiling to roof with the growing windfall of wedding shower proceeds, turning the entire right half of my house into some kind of Turkish Bazaar of love:Now, for the last three days and counting, my wife has been hunched over on the corner of our couch, sitting on her feet, (as is her strange habit), addressing 150 invitations…in calligraphy. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, as if she has nothing else better to do, Pam has decided that each invitation demands five minutes of ink-spewing artistry. I see her over there slaving away and I think of those horrible third world sweat shops:
Only, this pain is self-inflicted. Briefly she considered just slapping names and addresses on using regular pens and penmanship, and maybe knocking it all out in one afternoon assembly line style around the kitchen table. But that thought lasted about as long as my attention span at a soccer game. There was never any chance on earth that Pam wasn’t going to break out her Calligraphy pens for this project. It’s who she is and what she does. I got over it a long time ago. So, there she is like some medieval monk transcribing the Old Testament, all Memorial day weekend, while our daughter frolics at Virginia Beach with her best buds for a bachelorette beach weekend.
I’m only sorry I didn’t have six daughters.