I want to get married, not weddinged.

So, My Guy and I have been engaged for three whole weeks. It’s been educational. And happy – don’t get me wrong. But there’s just so much to do and learn and people are wonderful and weird.

There was the friend who kept asking me if My Guy was “worthy.” Uh … yeah, I vetted that pretty carefully. And it’s funny how newly engaged women become merely the vessel of The Ring. No one really wants to look at you – it’s The Ring they want to see. I bet this is what it’s like to have a newborn.

I’ve been amazed to see that now your wedding is supposed to have a theme. From David Tutera to pretty much every wedding blog, people are all, “Oh, my theme is April in Paris, and here are my Hobby Lobby 3-for-$1, made-in-Taiwan polyester flowers. Don’t they scream Parisian opulence?” Other popular themes appear to be “I’m tattooed and wearing a wedding dress, get over it,” “I want my whole life to look like an Anthropologie photo shoot,” and, of course, “My dad gave me a blank check.”

I’d now like to announce the theme of our wedding. It is ….

… ready for it? …

“Dude, we’re getting married.”

Yep. It really wasn’t that hard to narrow down the theme options.

We’ve selected a venue, despite the fact that the coordinator caused me to discover what might actually push me over the edge into Bridezilla territory. The initial proposed menu included salmon … after I specifically stated that I am allergic to everybody’s favorite pink fish. My response to the coordinator was simply, “Since I am allergic to salmon (per my original note), can we perhaps trade out that menu item for something else?”

But inside? Inside I was all, “I’m allergic to that fucking fish and I don’t want to be fucking puking my fucking guts out on my fucking wedding day!”

Hmm. So this is how it starts.

But I did manage to smile and nod when we looked at one venue where the lady told us that they don’t have enough chairs to cover seating at both the ceremony and at the reception. “It’s so easy, though,” she told us. “After the ceremony, you just have everybody grab their chair and carry it up the steps to the reception area!”

Right. I’ll just ask My Guy’s grandma to carry her own damn chair up a flight of stairs. That’s DIY wedding planning at its finest.

So, we’re getting married in April. I still appear to be somewhat sane, even though the teetering stack of wedding books from the library might lead you to believe otherwise.

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