“… so Melissa heard that in Cape Hatteras you can’t have chairs or an archway on the beach since it’s a natural preserve which I think is really stupid I mean how much damage can a chair do to a beach and what is the wedding going to look like without an arch its not like it would ruin the beach and the pictures would look so much…”
Fact: the simple act of speaking can literally put someone into a medical coma.
Eyes glazed over, I somehow mechanically found my way to the movies last night with Meg to see, ironically enough, Wedding Crashers (great movie, for the record). The entire drive there was a blur to me as I let an endless torrent of wedding-speak wash over me.
“… I mean seriously I can’t believe they have a problem with chairs on the beach I don’t know what she’s going to do but I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful and fun and I’m just happy that it’s on the beach because that’s gonna be a lot of fun and she’s always wanted a wedding on the beach so I’m sure she’ll work it out before…”
We’re at Red Lobster at this point. I have no idea how we got there. I also don’t know how the hell Meg can survive without air for a twenty minute car ride. In a daze, I frantically grope my left hand to ensure I was wearing my wedding ring. For a split second, I was paralyzed with terror at the prospect that the 16 months of wedding planning hell had merely been a dream, and I was suddenly back in 2004 with the entire wedding production still ahead of me. Relieved to find the Mark of Bridezilla still fused onto my hand, I attempt to get my bearings and figure out where the last 4 hours of my life just went.
I should have realized it; perhaps old age is making me slower. At very least, married life has made me complacent. I have known for quite some time that Meg and Melissa share a brain. I knew that our wedding excited Melissa a mere iota less than it did Meg. What I didn’t anticipate was that the reciprocal would affect Meg just as much.
It all started out as a nice, quiet Sunday night. Meg and I were watching a movie. When the phone rang, I was the closest to the phone to see it was Melissa calling. Meg answered and went upstairs to talk to her.
A Sunday night call was rather rare for Melissa, so I had an idea of what was coming. My suspicions were confirmed moments later when I heard the shrill squawk that only one entity in the known universe is capable of provoking: a wedding was coming.
Meg came flying downstairs, elated. For a second I wonder if she was this excited at our own engagement. Before I could pursue this train of thought, the onslaught began.
Melissa is not only Meg’s closest friend, but her only close friend that isn’t already married (or in Becca’s case, 13 months pregnant). So in one respect, I should be happy that, barring Meg’s sister getting married, this should be the last I have to endure this. On the other hand, the prospect of nightly updates of wedding planning for another year of my life looms over me.
So congratulation to Melissa and Phil on their engagement. I hope you’re happy for having subjected me to this.