ORCHESTRATING THE MOOD - BRIDAL SHOWS - An Overview

I attended two bridal shows during my tenure as groom-to-be, one in San Diego and one in Bloomington. The shows consisted of lots of brides-to-be and their entourages, mothers, maids of honor, bridesmaids, and anyone else who was recruited or convinced that their opinions are quite valuable in the planning process. I considered giving the advice that bridal shows are a potentially very favorable spot for finding female companionship, given that the numbers are strongly in your favor, and love is in the air. Odds are diminished some, when you consider that every fifth female is probably engaged. But if you want lots of twenty-something females with prominent thoughts of finding Mr. Perfect, this could be the spot. Then I realized this wouldn’t be fair to the vendors trying to make a living. I just laughed so hard I forgot what I was talking about.

The purpose of the show is to dazzle and confuse you with all the options available for your perfect day. It is a maze of booths offering everything from cakes to music to honeymoons. You will feel quite proud of yourself, as everyone congratulates you, since any male present is either the groom or the father of the bride, determined mostly by age. You are self-guided through the rows of booths, where you feel like you’ve seen everything in the first five minutes, then realize, at the end, that you were right about the feeling you had two hours ago.

Cake makers are one of the many vendors offering samples—in their case, little squares of insanely sweet toothpick-pierced offerings. They are thrust upon you in the style of Chinese fast-food sample hawkers at any of your finer shopping mall food courts. The angelic sweetness of the cake and icing made me sick after three samples, as all angelically sweet things do after the first fifteen minutes. It reaffirmed the fact that we really didn’t like wedding cake.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival

Stamp of Approval

We had Crazy Inc. stuff the envelopes for us as a part of the assembly. Unfortunately, after demonstrations of their skill level, we didn’t trust them to have accomplished this task correctly. So we unstuffed and verified all contents and order. This included such tasks as determining which invitations were assembled in the most precise manner and sending those to the people most likely to retain them for posterity, such as The MOB and The MG. I apologize to those who read this and feel slighted by having received a 95 percent good, but not perfect assembly; we had hoped you wouldn’t notice, with nothing else to compare it to.

At 3:45 p.m., on Saturday, the invitations were a week beyond the acceptable ultimate last day they should have been mailed, and we needed to get them en route to our guests. I hit the USPS website and pulled up the Love stamp. I enlarged, printed, and offered the design to my bride-to-be. She approved. We headed off to our local post office branch.

Upon arrival, we said, “Hi. Yes, wedding invitations. Late. Evil printers. How much postage do we need?”

“Sixty cents,” was the reply.

The essence, the eternity, the all-encompassing documentation of all we hold true and cherish, the colors, the font, the symbol, all weighed about two ounces, a little depressing, yet affordable to mail.

“We need eighty Love stamps, like this one we enlarged and printed for your reference.”

“What we have is in the case,” said our friend in blue.

The Love stamp was not present in the case. Surely, you reserve a supply of one hundred or more in a velvet-lined gold safe behind the counter. These are the preferred stamps of wedding invitations countrywide.

“Do you know of a branch that has them?” we asked.

“They probably have them at the main branch downtown, but they close in fifteen minutes.”

“These need to be mailed today. Can you call and ask?”

“They sell stamps at Kroger and some banks. You could try there,” was their reply.

I went through the white pages and called Kroger (who only sells $.37 stamps) and some other possible stamp retailers to no avail, as all the banks were on banking hours. At the same time, we learned from our helpful post office workers that we were apparently in between model years on the Love stamps, and therefore inventory was low citywide, but they still might have some at the main branch.

I glanced at Christa. “These have to go out today,” she said.

“Then we have to use the flower-bouquet stamps,” I replied.

The $.60 flower-bouquet stamp was lovely and had many admirable qualities, but it did not say Love on it.

“Put them on pretty,” Christa said.

This statement implied that, since we didn’t have a stamp that said Love, we would have to hope the receivers inferred Love by the painstaking effort we put into locating and centering the non-Love stamp. There was a chance that, without an exquisite stamp presentation, given the absence of Love spelled out, some people might forgo opening the invitation, thereby rendering all of our design and labor efforts useless and futile.

Fifteen minutes later, we walked out of the post office, our invitations at the mercy of our friendly postal workers. I smiled and felt a bit of relief. I turned. Her expression was a little more sour.

“We finally got our invitations out. Aren’t you happy?” I asked.

“Everyone knows that wedding invitations have the Love stamp on them. People will look at them and go ‘What is this?’ We should have ordered the stamps months ago. We are so stupid.”

My brain registered a warning light. I needed to respond in the right way, else something bad would happen.

My first thought was practical: “We didn’t know how much postage was going to be a few months ago.” Not good enough. C’mon you can be supportive.

My second thought was defensive: “I’m not stupid. You should have thought of that. You have all the bridal magazines.” Need I explain this one?

Next I mentally considered disbelief: “Sweet Jesus, woman. You need to calm down. They’re just stamps.”

I quickly realized that her ideal dream wedding was conceived, given life, and nurtured a time long before I came into the picture and that, at times, I was probably more disposable then her wedding vision. I didn’t want to say anything to reinforce that perception.

Finally, something positive and credit-deferring presented itself, and I went for it.

“I have never noticed or recalled a stamp on a wedding invitation I’ve received, and when they open ours and see the beautiful invitation you’ve created, no one will be able to remember a thing about the stamp.”

I said it and nothing exploded.

Let this be a lesson, children. Never judge your mail on the color and orientation of the postage; it is what’s on the inside that matters.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival

The Universe in an Envelope or Two

Invitation-selling stores are more common then I realized, and they all have the same basic items—and people for that matter.

“Hi. We’re looking for wedding invitations,” we said upon entering.

“Great. What are you looking for?” the associate replied.

“Something somewhat unique, but formal enough for The MOB to show off at church.”

“Have a seat. We have lots of wonderful choices. Look through and mark the ones you like.”

Wham! What appeared to be the unabridged history of the universe landed in front of us.

“This is one of many. Take your time,” she added.

I looked around and saw that there were numerous universes to explore.

“Mark what you like and we can price them out at the end,” she concluded and walked off.

I was in the dark regarding the price of invitations, and Christa, to some extent, was also. We didn’t think the numbers would grow so fast. Dining à la carte is a blessing and a curse. You pay for exactly what you get, but to be full, gloriously full, the check ends up bigger then you think.

“We have found four we like,” we said.

“Let’s see. Oh, that is nice. The invitation paper is two dollars. Printing is fifty cents per invite, and the printing set-up fee is twenty-five dollars total,” our helper replied.

“So, two hundred and seventy-five dollars for one hundred,” I stated.

“Did you intend on having a reception?” she asked with only a hint of contempt.

“Yes.”

“Well, how will they know? You need a reception card.” Our assumed IQ kept dropping.

“OK.”

“Those are seventy-five cents each, with a twenty-five-cent printing fee per card,” she stated.

“So three hundred and seventy-five dollars for one hundred.”

 “Do you want to know who is coming?” she asked.

“Those we invite, hopefully,” I replied.

“Yes. So an RSVP card will be needed. The matching one is also seventy-five cents with a twenty-five-cent printing fee. Oh, let us not forget the envelope—fifty cents each, plus postage.”

“All right, five hundred and twenty-five dollars, plus postage. What was our budget again?” I asked, looking at Christa.

Nickels were pouring, like the sands of an hourglass, directly into my clown pants, sinking me ever further into budgetary no man’s land. Gasping for air, I began to understand the tomes, as the weight of the universe was being unloaded on us, one nickel at a time. (Our wedding had three sponsors: my parents, Christa’s parents, and us, so I wanted to ensure that each sponsor got nickel-and-dimed equally. I wanted a corporate sponsor, but none stepped forward. I personally feel that I could have been more persuasive, but Mr. Puddy insisted on doing the talking. His demand for equal feline representation was often the deal breaker.)

“And will your guests simply infer the way to get to your wedding and reception?” our helper continued, at this point addressing the village idiots.

“I suppose we could tell them,” I offered.

 “On some exquisite linen paper, I hope.” She continued to refine us. I nodded.

“Indeed, forty cents per sheet and twenty cents for printing. Now to wrap it nicely, we have the French-fold envelope, fifty cents each,” she added.

“And postage!” I exclaimed.

I had anticipated her move and had struck first. She wanted to charge us, but I said it first. Who’s the big winner?

“Oh, sir. That is simply the envelope for the invitation.”

“Exactly,” I stated, confident in my comprehension of envelopes.

“For the outside envelope, we recommend a more simple ivory, with ivory tissue. Fifty cents per envelope and tissue, postage should be seventy cents. I can also recommend an excellent calligrapher for two dollars per envelope,” she finally concluded.

I was swimming in the madness, but with clown pants full of nickels, the prospects weren’t good for staying afloat. Our middle-of-the-road invitation had blown past our price expectations to the point where even I had lost the ability to keep a running total.

An envelope for an envelope. How can you state it so matter-of-fact, when it is so insane?

“Well, we are going to have to think about it,” we said, and made a beeline for the door.

We both knew that the wedding invitation budget wasn’t anywhere near four figures. We called The MOB to go over what we had learned. She had spoken to some friends at church and learned that invitations were a bit more expensive than our budget seemed to indicate, and she reemphasized that we had better beat Uncle J, or she wouldn’t hear the end of it. It took us a little while to let the new budgetary picture sink in.

This led us into the single greatest misadventure of the preparation.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival

INVITATIONS - Sticking It to Uncle J

Amid the Save the Date bondage confusion, Uncle J claimed we had sent some of the cheapest invitations he had ever seen. The MOB was not happy to hear this.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I gave him an earful,” she said.

It so happened that Uncle J’s nephew was getting married that summer and had invited The MOB. She showed us the invitation and said, “What’s so great about this? I’m sure yours will be much prettier.” Needless to say, the budget on that particular item got a lot more wiggle room. So the hunt began.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival

PARENTS GETTING THEIR PEEPS IN

The whole point of having this shindig is to ask those who love and support you (and your parents’ friends) to come and bear witness to your declaration of unbounded love. If you are able to persevere through the invitation acquisition process (foreshadowing unsavory times), all you have to do is decide who to send those invitations to. However, there are numerous factors to consider during this process, related to other aspects of the glorious event planning.

The first major step is to make a rough estimate of how many people you want in attendance. The number needs to account for the variable cost of each guest, in order to keep within budget.

“Variable cost, why?” Christa asked.

“Having limited funds means we can’t throw the event of the decade, but we have a chance at the best merriment-to-expense ratio this year, and that is why each feature and guest added to the festivities must be considered, relative to merriment and cost,” I replied.

“So if cousin Stinky isn’t bringing $42.50 of good times, we aren’t inviting him?”

“There is a discount for blood relations.”

The number of guests must also take into consideration the physical confines of the church and reception site. You must remember that an open bar, lit candles, and some guests’ unwillingness to forgo polyester does increase the chance of fire, and the legal ramifications could force you to return some of your gifts to pay for court proceedings. I unsuccessfully tried to pay for my last doctor’s visit with crystal candlesticks. I suspect you wouldn’t get much further with a lawyer.

It is often helpful to try and assess where your parents stand with their guest list. I sent my mom (The MG) my best guess for who they might invite, selectively chosen. She replied with a list of their friends and my extended family members, divided into three tiers. Tier one indicated people we “must invite,” tier two meant “want to invite,” and tier three was “should invite but expendable.” Impressive! I do believe you are my mother and that microeconomics can be inherited.

Wait. The MG had already completed a three-tier guest-ranking system. What was she spending her free time doing now? She was not only reacting she was anticipating! She probably had suggestions documented on note cards for checklist items still two months in the future. She did mention that she had been to the library to get wedding guide books, and if I know the public library system, those will probably span at least the past half century. So not only are those note cards color-coded and alphabetically stored, they probably have bibliographical footnotes.

If you see parallels to your own mother, your best bet is to find her a very time-consuming hobby right before you announce your engagement, something like foster parenting for three-month-old Indonesian quadruplets.

It was a completely different situation for Christa, since she didn’t know very many of her parent’s friends, neighbors, or The MOB’s fellow church workers. Christa called to ask The MOB if she could provide us with an approximate number and the names of people she would like to invite. The MOB said she could try and put together a formal list. She then began to tell Christa about people she had already invited, including someone she had run into that morning at Bob Evans. This list included several people from her church, who all expressed interest in coming, but who, she was certain, wouldn’t come, and we didn’t need to formally invite. I knew from the look on Christa’s face, as she listened, that the news was going to be interesting.

Christa got off the phone and said “I don’t know what to say. She’s invited people but told me not to formally invite them.”

“I don’t know if Excel has a function for that,” I replied.

It is interesting to note that, at no point during any vows I’ve heard or read, does it explicitly state an obligation to humor your intended’s immediate family members in times of insanity. It is probably why they just traded head of cattle for daughters in the old days. It was a simple, elegant exchange, free of in-laws.

I was able to use The MG’s numbers to figure how many of our friends we needed to invite to keep her comfortably at tier two. In fairness, we needed to give that same number of invitations to The MOB. However, her potential invitees had to consider the three hours of travel needed to attend. This distance led to a higher percentage of declines, as the wedding grew closer. For every “can not attend” notice we received back, there was another potential couple to send one to. The MOB had her seats, and she intended to use them. She would send Christa e-mails regarding who to invite and the likelihood of their attending, including a medical history (“it’s only mild hemorrhoids”) and resume of other road trips completed (“went to visit his daughter in Toledo just last week”). His ass cushion better match our color scheme.

There was no problem with trying to fill the seats. At some point, though, when the guests received their invites two weeks before the event and had already missed the RSVP date by three weeks, they would have to infer the fill-in guest label that was assigned to them, and that’s not tasteful either.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival