Usually I’m fine pretending to care about my answers to people’s mundane questions about plans. But when it comes to my upcoming nuptials I can barely manage to keep my eyes from rolling. I’m tired of everyone asking the same thing over and again. I’m sure it mostly comes from a good place, but sometimes I just do not care.
Do. Not. Care.
Because the questions are dumb.
“Are you excited?” “How many people are you inviting?” “Will there be an open bar?” Blah blah blah.
So here’s my snarky list of answers that I crawl out of my skin from answering like a dick. Because despite the stupid questions that pop up when or because the conversation lags, they mean well. I’m just tired of answering.
“Are you excited?” Yes. Very. Who wouldn’t be excited about a wedding that they chose for themselves? Why ask this? Who would say no? For real.
“How many people are you inviting?” This seems to only be asked by nosy people in the family who live to talk trash or people who aren’t invited and are rooting for an answer as to why. Like, oh it’s just a small one? Cool. Respect. Oh, it’s more than just the fam, but you can’t invite everyone you’ve ever met? The nerve. Shut up. If you’re dying to go, but we didn’t invite you and you’re pissed then you maybe want to go just to go, not to celebrate with us specifically. Who has time for that?
“Can I bring a guest?” Fuck off. No. If your invite doesn’t say "…and guest" then fucking no you cannot. Sorry. Maybe if at the end enough people decline, I can have a b-list. But not before. And certainly don’t RSVP for two when we only invited one. I don’t know about anyone else’s genetic makeup, but mine is not made of money. Or patience.
Follow that vent up with “but you’ll get it back in cards at the end of the night, right? So what does it matter?” and I lose it. First off only assholes EXPECT monetary gifts in this culture. It’s nice, sure, but we can’t expect everyone to fork over $50 per person just to break even on dinner and drinks. I feel like expecting thousands of dollars to rake in at the end of the day makes me a shitty person. I’d rather be humble and not have expectations for others.
Not to mention people don’t pay for guests most times.
But let’s not forget that the venue has a limit as well! So not only do we have financial limitations—the venue only holds so many people sitting at tables at the same time without disrupting the fire codes. Please don’t invite your own guest. We aren’t being cheap, we don’t want you to feel alone or sad because your boyfriend (that we have never met) can’t come eat our food and abuse our open bar. We don’t have room. The venue is 160ish people and our invites went out to 154. Do. Not. Create. Fire hazards.
“Are you nervous?” Nervous about what? Marrying Chris? Making a decision? No. And fuck you. Nervous about running out of money? Yes. See above.
“What’s your budget?” The only person who should ask this is the planner. Yes, I have been asked. And no, it’s nobody’s business unless we choose to mention it. And as I am my own planner, I deem who is acceptable to ask this: myself—to myself, my husband, and my dad.
Again, fuck off.
“It’s coming close, are you ready?” For which part? Ready for what? This conversation to end? Yes. To be wed to Chris? Yes. I wish it were sooner. Could I up and get married tomorrow with all of the decorations and plans? No. Duh. Why are you asking this? Who is ready five weeks ahead of time? Who?
“Why such a fast engagement?” Because that’s what we wanted. Six months is a long time after dating for almost four years. We didn’t want to spend our engagement saving money and subscribing to new credit cards and loan applications for this. We have a budget and we’re staying on point. No need to prolong it for the sake of money. I personally believe people who have two-year engagements are doing it wrong. I’m not focused on the wedding as much as I am focused on marrying my husband. We don’t need a $100,000 wedding for that. We just want to get married with a group of beloveds and have a few hours of fun. It’s our choice.
“Does this whole thing make you miss your mom?” Fuck you with all of the fuck yous I can dagger out with my face. Everything. Every god damn thing of every god damn day makes me feel my mom’s death. Yes, I feel it sometimes heavier than others in this process, and sometimes I need to hug it out with my dad and listen like a fucking hugging fortress about how sad and sorry he is that she’s not here for this. Yes, it is excruciating to think about. To recall how my brother shook his head at me in the hospital hallway to let me know she was gone and how I had to be dragged off of the floor to call my other brother to tell him because I didn't think it was fair to have my middle brother tell all the news. How we will never again have a full family portrait. How she had all these plans in her head for me that she never got to share. How Chris never got a photo with her—ever. How I won’t get to share my wedding day with my own mom. Or Chris’s mom. How he won’t get a mother son dance. How my dad will walk me alone. Give me away alone. How we will pretend to fight the heartbreak in the joy. I repeatedly think of these things every god damn day. But how dare someone ask that?! How fucking dare you. If I could muster it, I would teach myself to vomit on command so that I could appropriately answer your question with a fuck right off upchuck and putting up the deuces. Bitch, bye.
I’m also so exhausted with people bitching about what we aren’t doing. No white dress (it's champagne and gold). No rehearsal dinner (why do you need to rehearse standing there listening to Blair talk?). No block of rooms at a hotel (we're not at a hotel)—and because that’s stupid if you’re from the same area. No bouquet toss (we hand made paper flowers from Harry Potter books—I'm keepin' that shite). No limo. No DJ. Didn’t want a flower girl. Got one anyhow. Yes, my mom would be proud and approving. No, I’m not going to immediately think of kids because I got married “late in life” at 32. What? This shit happens.
Not your business anyhow. Again, our choices. I hate how everyone thinks their input is welcome. It rarely is.
To future brides—don't be afraid to feel like a dick. It's important that your wedding is done the way you want it, not the way your psycho aunt wants it who never even calls you on your birthday. It's for you. If anyone wants to poo-poo on your parade then they don't HAVE to be invited. I'd rather the inconsequential feelings of my mom's second cousin by marriage get annoyed than have to deal with her at my own wedding talking about her daughter's wedding was more expensive and so would you. That's my advice. Do not be afraid to say no. Do not be afraid to feel what you're feeling.
And invest in a low-temp hot glue gun. You may need it.