Weddings dreams and baby seats:
So, some things I’ve learned about myself after this weekend:
- The seamstress is not amused by the fact that I have not yet bought my bridesmaid shoes. She is even less amused by my offer to just wear the boots I have on now. Me? I am terribly amused.
- Being maid of honor does not mean showers and flowers. It means running interference and carrying a flask and making sure no one fucks with my girl. That includes you, grandma.
- Things that evidently I should not have mentioned to the bride’s parents, grandparents, and younger brother: the bachelor party, the bachelorette party, the bride ever having drank any alcohol ever in her life, the skunk under the bride and groom’s new house, politics at the dinner table, the possibility of a flame kit on the younger brother’s new car, people’s ages, and the words “Jesus,” “chicks,” and “asshole” in such close proximity.
- Apparently, I am not very good at hiding my disgust with any sentence that includes the word “updo.”
- What do I want engraved on the inside of my wedding ring? No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
- What songs do I want played at my wedding? “The Girl from Ipanema,” “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter,” and “Girls” by the Beastie Boys.
- Do I give a fuck about what color the ribbon is on the favor boxes? Fuck no.