I thought I was being girly enough. Doesn’t drinking champagne in my pajamas and reading bridal magazines count for anything anymore?
I thoroughly enjoy thinking about the wedding. But if you think I’m gonna get off my ass and go shopping for centerpieces, clearly we haven’t met.
I went dress shopping that one time and I’m still experiencing PTSD from claustrophobic dressing rooms and bedazzled tulle sausage casings.
I considered making the invitations myself, with sepia-toned photos and hand-punched rivets and beautiful cardstock. But then I realized I could order some shit with the click of a mouse from the comfort of my chair. Done.
Mama Bird contacts me twelve times daily to consult me about critical decisions regarding centerpieces and favors and I think my lackadaisical response frustrates her. My laziness should not be confused with ingratitude – when The Big Day rolls around, I will squeal delightedly like a piglet in a mud puddle.
|Hi. 1985 called and invited these chairs to the prom.|
I’m not the girl who will have a breakdown because the bows on the chair covers are the wrong shade of lilac. In fact, I think anyone who ties bows on chairs should be kicked in the kneecap.
It’s a good thing I’m not planning the details of this shindig or it would be a half-assed potluck washed down with a communal bottle of vodka after we mutter “I do…”