… she’s out of control.

She’s mailing us an invitation to our own wedding.

I will repeat that.

She’s mailing us an invitation to our own wedding.

Not only are we getting an invitation, but she is actually taking the time, effort, and stamp to mail it back to us.

The invitation will leave our house, travel via truck, plane, and likely carrier pigeon (since that’s more formal, of course) only to arrive…

… back at our house.

I just… nevermind, I can’t even think of a comment on that one. I’m punching out of this entry; every so often, you encounter a situation that writes its own punchline.

I know I haven’t blogged much lately, and with the close proximity of the wedding even I am surprised I haven’t had much to say. On one hand, I’ve been distracted, with a business trip, a broken foot (at the same time as the business trip, how much did it suck to be me?), and training for an upcoming jiu-jitsu tournament (hence, the aforementioned broken foot) over the past few weeks. On the other, the amount of time spent discussing (read: listening to Meg babble) about the wedding has left me not wanting to invest any more time than necessary on wedding-related activities.

So I’m sitting here on Monday night, enjoying a seemingly testosterone driven night of WWE wrestling and The Ultimate Fighter, when Meg leaves the confines of Bridezilla’s lair in search of her whoopin’ boy du jour. She hands me one of our invitations, telling me it’s the one we can actually touch. Content to express my abhorrence of that comment with a simple roll of my eyes, I began to disassemble the surprisingly heavy invitation.

Let me first mention that I had to ask a number of coworkers for their addresses in order to send them their invitations, as employee addresses are not accessible outside of HR. In my e-mail I stated that I would have simply considered the e-mail the invitation if I did in fact actually have a say in anything involved in this production. Stupid me.

For the uneducated who have never stopped to look at a wedding invitation, let me dissect the contents. Please try to keep in mind that this is, at its most fundamental level, a friggin’ invitation.

Outer Envelope – This is the envelope used to mail the invitation. Apparently, we are paying to get the addresses done in calligraphy. I’m sure this will look beautiful, before being corrupted by a stamp (assuming of course, we don’t proposition the US Postal Service to get custom stamps created), the funk at the bottom of the recipient’s mailbox, the mailman’s hands, and various other destructive forces the poor envelope will face during its transit. The tech-savvy of you will wonder why I can’t simply put the envelope through my printer and simulate calligraphy writing myself. I tried to ask Meg the same thing, at which point she patted my head gently and walked away. Stupid me.

Inner Envelope – Not content to have the invitation sullied by the mailing process, the entire invitation is encased in another envelope under the guise of arriving clean and unabated. I tried to ask why we don’t just get this envelope calligraphy-ed and not worry about the outer, “transit” envelope.

I normally consider myself a pretty smart guy, but my persistent asking of these questions, to which I know there is no logical answer, make me wonder how many times I’d push the lever that electrocutes me before realizing it will never drop a food pellet. The world’s slowest hamster would shake its head in disbelief at my inability to learn from my own mistakes.

Piece of Toilet Paper – I actually know the historical background on this one. A coworker (thanks Jenn) told me that in the old days, wax paper was put in the invitation because it was typically packaged before the ink was dry. In our new fangled technological era of laser printers, I came up with my own reasons as to why to include this piece of paper, none of which I deemed clean enough to post on this site. Rest assured, my description as a “piece of toilet paper” was highly intentional.

Once again, let me take this opportunity to remind you that this is in fact, an invitation.

Actual Invitation – Surprised it did not begin with “Here Ye, Here Ye”, I am left wondering just why the hell the year 2005 is actually spelled out. And apparently, “One Thirty” is entirely too neanderthal for a wedding invitation, instead choosing the stuffy and proper description of “Half Past One O’Clock”.

“Meg, there’s a typo”

I actually heard her stomach hit the ground. Knowing if she even thought for a second that I was joking she would immediately go for the jugular, I quickly pointed out the typo.

“Honor is misspelled as ‘honour’.”

You’d think I had just released a hostage, what with the amount of relief that washed across her face. More on this later.

Invitation to the Reception – I hadn’t noticed, but the invitation only applies to the church. There is an entirely separate piece of overpriced paper to invite people to the reception. Again with the “half past” bullshit, I might add.

RSVP Card – In sticking with the gaudy formal-speak, “favor” is spelled “favour”. Apparentluy, onue can sound more intelligeunt by adding a silent ‘u’ at various points in a wurd. Again, I’d have pointed people to the website and let them choose their meal selection via that avenue, but that would be too easy [cough]cheap[cough].

RSVP Card Envelope – Luckily, these are already addressed (though my name is noticeably absent), and Meg’s in for one boring ass time putting stamps on all of these.

Missing from the assembly is the direction cards, but that’s my fault. I’m responsible for all of the things deemed unimportant enough to not pay exorbitant amounts of money to have professionally printed. I don’t mind, just haven’t gotten to them yet.

After all is said and done, and with as much as these damn things cost, every one of you better take each piece of this invitation and stick them to your respective refrigerators. I’m not talking about just the invitation, you better put everything down to the toilet paper on the fridge, including the calligraphy-ed inner AND outer envelopes. I’ll be checking if I’m at anyone’s domicile over the next few weeks.