a confession (and a proposition)
July 22, 2012

Here’s my Sunday night confession: I miss wedding planning.

I absolutely understand that this is not a cool position to take. It is supremely lame, utterly embarrassing, borderline harassing to the feminist cause. All of the cool people I know hated planning their weddings. Even some uncool people I know hated planning their weddings. Haughtily dismissing and complaining about planning your wedding definitely seems to be the mainstream, accepted thing to do these days.

Case in point: I was at a party around Christmas time and ended up in a conversation with an acquaintance from high school. I believe she was part of our prom court – perhaps was crowned duchess or something like that – and her blonde hair always falls just so and Facebook tells me that she was a very active member of her sorority at a very Southern university.

Even she was complaining about how much she disliked wedding planning.

What, in god’s name, is wrong with me?

I should probably specify that I didn’t love every second of the many months leading up to our heralded April union. The interpersonal aspects of it drove me mad, and seemingly simple exercises like coming up with a guest list or preparing to attend my own bachelorette party left me feeling conflicted and insecure and very, very worried. For much of that year and a half, I was a tearful mess with a pretty ring on her left hand.

But man, did I love all that other crap. You know, the stuff that doesn’t matter? The peony centerpieces and the peach-colored ribbons and the big tulle skirt on the big white dress? I loved it all. I was so giddy the night before my dress shopping weekend that I couldn’t sleep. I happily spent hours scanning Etsy for the perfect table number holders. (Table number holders!) Appointments with my florist were like a beacon in my Filofax, much anticipated events where we chatted about the exact ratio of baby’s breath to roses I preferred to have on our chuppah. All those wedding blogs – even the ones with the nausea-prompting, grammar mistake-laden copy – are still on my fucking Google reader.

Does it make it better if I keep using expletives while throwing these confessions out there? This is how torn I am on this subject, how embarrassed I am to tell you these things. But they’re the truth.

Wedding planning was my big project. It was a great joy for me.  I knew and know that all those silly little details meant nothing…and yet, I loved them.

And now it’s over. And I totally get that. And I promise I’ll take those blogs off my reader…soon.

But our photographer emailed me yesterday to tell me that she’s putting the disc with all 954 of our wedding pictures in the mail this week. So I’m taking that as my cue to get this out of my system, to share all my stories of the day, of this party we planned and this big, life-changing promise I made to that guy I met in a hostel five years ago.

And then we’ll put this thing to bed and I’ll go back to being my slightly cooler self and we’ll pretend all this never happened.