Alright, people, today I offer you my most poignant piece of advice to date… listen VERY carefully or you just may risk losing your mind (perhaps even a hand) to bridal warfare… FOR-EV-VER!
Okay, okay, that’s an exaggeration, but writer’s cramp is no laughing matter. I suggest any of you preparing to tackle your invites, thank you’s, etc. to tread carefully AND respectfully… for this is not a world that you should enter into lightly. Take for instance the tale of this poor bride-to-be, and of course by this poor bride-to-be, I mean this (points to self) bride, me:
Well, it started off well enough. After receiving my wedding invitations weeks in advance (thank you, Aunt Madonna!), I figured I had pleeeenty of time to polish them off before dropping them by Ye Old Postal Service (Mistake # 1… of many). However, just like everything else under the watchful eye of Father Time, “pleeeenty of time” turned into a single week… a single week turned into a couple of days… and a couple of days turned into the last few, schizophrenic hours before deadline. Thus, my dear friend, is where I found myself last night. Journey with me, won’t you… into a world that can only be described as the most dizzying night of aswirly twirly Mr. & Mrs. / ampersand combos in the history of mankind.
It’s a couple hours in, and already I feel the please-let there-be-something-out-there-to-distract-me ADHD kick in. After channeling my inner go-getter, however, I almost instantly become a methodical machine, fashioned by shorts bursts of frenzy and slow, Yoga’esque breathing. Unfortunately, the breathing was patterned around the mantra “Inhale – you can do this, Mary (and) Exhale – you are such an idiot for waiting!” A little less than encouraging, eh?
Cut to six hours later… The Yoga’esque breathing is long gone and has been replaced by pierced lips and clenched teeth. I only have myself to blame, but instead of doing the “grown up” thing and admitting defeat, I chose the classier road and began to blame everyone else. I took on the child like persona of an eight year old girl, filled with dramatic pouts and empty threats. Not only have I irritated everyone around me, but I’m dealing with the unmistakable misfortune of a numbing booty and a neck lingering on the verge of broken. Awesome.
Then, after what felt like days of recalling my finest, cursive penmanship – which by the end of the night resembled something closer to heinously flailing chicken scratch -, thee old, trusty right hand began to crumple under the pressure. Yep. It was almost physically impossible to keep going… The brat in me considered writing left-handed, but the bride in me prevailed, and I finally finished. Then through watery, bloodshot eyes, behind a fury of frizzy curls, underneath a pile of do-over envelopes, a question emerged from the crowd – and by crowd, I mean my Mister,”Why did you wait until tonight to do them all?” (grrrrrrr)
… Anyone? Buehler?
Let me answer that for you, my dear man-to-be… because I’m an idiot, (hehe, just kidding… kind of ) but you don’t have to be! For all my lovely brides-to-be out there, please listen and head this advice: if you are lucky enough and find yourselves in a situation where you have things given to early (ie. your wedding invitation envelopes), don’t get “soooo busy” to the point where you put ANYTHING off until the last minute. Better you do a few things here and there, than everything all at once.
Trust me and my poor, poor crippled hand.