About a year ago, Eric (Meg’s brother) mentioned something about weddings being unfair because all of the presents are geared to the bride. Bless his soul, he tried to even the score by offering to buy some sort of power tool, which would pose as a couple gift but realistically be for the groom. Incidentally, I’m a computer geek, so the prospect of putting anything with the name “saw” in my hands is a scary proposition to say the least.
At 21 and unmarried, Eric is extremely wise beyond his years. I didn’t realize the depth to his wisdom until this weekend as I found myself at Bed, Bath, & Beyond with a bar code scanner strapped to my wrist. In the end, Eric is already ahead of the game as far as marriage goes; he realizes to avoid accompanying his bride-to-be as she registers for gifts.
In Meg’s defense, she did an initial round of registering without me. Apparently, we are registered for china and some other shit that, let’s face it, I really could not care less about. Her tactics were impeccable; she chose Bed, Bath, & Beyond as the one place to make me attend, realizing that my resistance towards Macy’s would have been on par with a child not wanting to go to bed at night.
“Do we get to register at Best Buy?”
“I’m not even going to dignify that one with an answer.”
And so it came to pass that Sunday afternoon found me sitting in BB&B meeting with their wedding registry guy. In a further testament to Meg’s strategy, she packed a bottle of water and a protein bar for me, so in the middle of his 30 minute speech when I started to get fussy, she handed me a snack to quiet me down. If this description makes me sound like a child, it’s with due reason; I’m the first to admit that I get unbelievably cranky when I’m hungry. Suffice it to say, Meg had done her homework and planned this particular wedding task well.
As I said, the initial meeting with the wedding guy took a solid 30 minutes. During which time he explained the benefits of registering at BB&B, which, since we were already there in the first place, was a pointless sell and a waste of my valuable, albeit waning, patience. He showed us how we can edit it through the web site, what happens if we want to return something we don’t like, and some more chatter that was drowned out at the sound of the crackling of a protein bar wrapper. Further proof that not only does Meg know me well, but also has the cunning strategic sense that would rival most military generals.
What I did (unfortunately) pick up on during his spiel was the mention of the phrase “You two are starting a new life together.” Granted, he doesn’t know us and I’m sure this is a canned song and dance, so he had no idea how much this phrase would piss me off. Meg and I have been living together for over 2 years now. Our life has started. Despite what all of the knotties may have you think, nothing changes when we wake up on May 29th. We get to go on a honeymoon, I’ll have a ring locked onto my finger like an impregnable bear trap, and we’ll have the ability to have children (which, to squelch the inevitable comments, is a right we shall not be exercising anytime in the near future). That having been said, we are already set in our routines, and we already have the majority, if not all, of the appliances and utensils to carry out said routines. This should give you a good indication of my mentality going into this venture: we have a good 95% of what we “need” already.
Bar code gun in hand, we began our adventure through BB&B. Let me tell you up front, BB&B has some truly useless shit. I know this because Meg had this unbelievable tendency to search out the most abstract of these items and attempt to come up with a reason as to why we need them.
“We need a Tortilla Warmer.”
In a rather unrelated side note yet continuing the discussion of useless BB&B shit, I saw an item called the “Chik Can”. It was a metal structure, roughly the size of a can of soda, with an oversized base. The idea is that you put a can of beer in the structure, and then shove the entire thing up the ass of a chicken. Apparently, when cooking the resulting cyborg chicken, something will emerge from the unholy combination that apparently makes the chicken taste better. It appears that for many years now, I have been doing things wrong by cooking the chicken and consuming the beer orally; evidently beer is much better after it has passed through the ass of a chicken.
As another quick side note, BB&B doesn’t sell Poland Springs. I know this because I broke the bar code scanner while scanning the bar code on my Poland Springs bottle. The saving grace was that this got the scanner taken from me, leaving me with literally no responsibilities in this process.
We only managed to canvas about half of BB&B in the hour we spent with the bar code gun. Meg was actually starting to get bored as well, and happy that I had yet to completely lose it and send the scanner airborne, Meg decided to quit while she was ahead and conceded that we could leave. She went on to say that she would finish BB&B without me; she was happy that I had stuck around as long as I had. God bless her, she’s a good egg.
I always try to have a moral to my blog entries. The moral to this entry is simple: ignore the registry and buy me stuff from Best Buy. Don’t believe what she may have you think with the registry, we do not need Decorative Cheese Boards.