For a while now, I’ve had an idea of how much easier my life will be than Meg’s on the day of the wedding. As I learned that her dress has enough different pieces to rival a suit of armor, the prospect of having to wear a tuxedo seems considerably less daunting. I’m also aware that this Arthurian contraption has to be surgically grafted onto her body without disturbing the Michelangelo-esque paint job that her makeup person will have applied a few hours earlier. Seven months out from the wedding, she’s already in the process of growing out her hair so she can wear it up that day. I’m starting to realize that the big foo-foo princess dress is not only for the bride, but it also serves to give me a indication that this woman, who looks nothing like the girl I was engaged to, is in fact Meg.
To assist in all of this (in addition to a number of other things that will have to wait for another blog entry), Meg has acquired the help of a Wedding Coordinator simply for the day of the wedding. Mary Jane will assist Meg in the multi-hour process of performing the aforementioned rituals. The princess motif continues.
Recently, more attention has been called to the fact that men have it easier, even though as I said we’re still a good seven months out. Meg’s begun the process of looking for bridemaids dresses. My feeble, non-married-man mind had previously thought that picking bridesmaids dresses simply meant choosing a color. To me, all dresses effectively look the same, simply showing varying degrees of the woman’s back.
Not surprisingly, I was wrong. Meg cornered me and had me look at the catalog. Because of the disturbing quantity and insane subtlety in dress differences, I was able to easily convert the catalog into a flip book. Also not surprisingly, Meg was not amused.
So why do I say I’m happy to be the guy in all this? Well to begin with, my attire at the wedding is largely dictated. The only real choice is which non-After Hours formal wear store to recruit. Furthermore, the uniform of my groomsmen is also largely dictated. On the morning of the wedding, while Meg is beginning her Kafka transformation into The Bride, I’ll still likely be asleep, or at very least out to breakfast with the groomsmen (none of which will even have showered at this point). The biggest challenge I’ll likely face will be adjusting the tuxedo vest to fit my torso. Hell, the tie is a clip on, could they dumb it down anymore?
Meg offered to hire Mary Jane’s assistant to help me while getting dressed. Despite my sincerest efforts to find an excuse to procure myself a servant, I could not think of even a superficial reason as to why I would need someone that morning.