Monday, June 4, 2012
Our Wedding... Inviting Fights
I'd be a total fibber if I didn't fess up to some pretty ridiculous tiffs during our wedding planning... and while we were fortunate to only have a few, they typically stemmed from me trying to force Bry to care about something he could have given two sh*ts about.
Which brings me to the story of our wedding invitations and how I tried to make a man care about paper and calligraphy as much as I do.
Bry was a champ about being really into the wedding crest that our fave artist (and all around wonderful gal!), Happy Menocal, designed. But when it came time to put the crest on paper, it was a different story and a classic case of knowing when to pick your battles.
In my Delusional Bridal Mind (D.B.M. - it really should be a labeled condition), we would sit around the stationer's table in charming Georgetown and ooo and ahhh in unison over all of the beautiful options. We would agree on everything, hold hands, and then have a wonderful dinner drinking champagne and toasting how awesomely excited we were to send out the invites that we had created... toooooogether.
Yeah, so I was an idiot. Bry is a trooper... but every man has his limits, and after a long day at his office he just wanted to get out of his suit and chill. Looking at massive binders of invitations was not something that sounded fun to him, no matter how many times I played out this perfect wedding moment in my head, and he was a grumpy ass after 45 minutes of thumbing through pretty pretty paper.
In hindsight, I should have fed him a martini or two when he arrived...
I also should have taken it to heart when he said "This is YOUR thing. Pick what you think looks best and I know I'll love it."
My quest to involve him in the process was really a test to see how many envelope liners he would look at before cracking...
The sweet woman who owned the shop could have cut the tension with a knife, but she was a pro and so well-versed in this kind of couples breakdown, that she swooped in like Dr. Drew on Celebrity Rehab to calm the crazy and quickly lock and load our invitation order before things got too uncomfortable and I tried to paper-cut my future Husby.
Of course, in the end it all worked out.
The invites turned out amazingly well, and I stopped forcing Bry to weigh-in on details that I cared about way more than he did. And it was never that he didn't care, he just knew I cared a hell of a lot more. Smart man.
Now I just have to apply this lesson to home decorating.