Once Upon A Wedding

Once upon a time, on a crisp October day, Princess Caitlin was sitting on the sand, looking out at English Bay. She was enjoying the warmth of her tall, non-fat, caramel macchiato, when a handsome Prince carrying a grande americano came and sat beside her. Nervously, the Prince pulled a magic silver bell from his jacket pocket. With a face the shade of snow, he thrust the magic bell toward the Princess and out fell a fabulous diamond ring. Then the Prince asked the question so many girls dream about for most of their lives. “Um, Caitlin? Will you marry me?” “Yes,” she said, “Yes.” With that, the Prince and Princess floated away on a cloud of soon-to-be marital bliss.

Then they began sharing their news with others.

While I (Princess Caitlin) was still daydreaming about “the rest of my life”, friends and family began to bombard me with questions about the wedding. All they wanted to talk about was “the big day”. Everyone had advice, suggestions, tips and expectations to share. I hadn’t even begun to think about the reception, or the dress, or the flowers, or the cake – I was at a loss and quickly becoming overwhelmed.

In a panic, I spent $60 on wedding magazines. I scoured the web for ideas and researched all the “necessary” items. I immersed myself in the “shoulds” and the “how-tos”. I was manic about finding the perfect favour to brand our relationship: are we a box of truffles, or a cedar sapling? Sapling. Am I a bouquet of wildflowers or a single sunflower? Sunflower. Are we roast lamb or grilled bison? Bison represents our Manitoban roots. Bison. We need a signature drink? Ok. Are we gin and tonic, or rum and coke? Well, are we saying that we’re fresh and clear, or sweet and syrupy? Isn’t Uncle Jim allergic to gin? How does rum connect conceptually with the cardamom-scented butter cake filled with fig conserve and orange-blossom cream?!

Speaking of fig conserve, where did I put the clipping of those cute jam jar favours? Three times I ran from end to end of the apartment. I tore through piles of magazines, stacks of printouts and collections of loose notes. As I slumped huffing and puffing on the sofa, a shrill siren of warning went off in my head: this was no way to ensure an exquisitely unified event! If I intended to be the truly gracious hostess - the hostess whose elegant arbour, monogrammed matches and spectacular fireworks display all worked together to create a harmonious guest experience – I could not allow this type of mismanagement! I cancelled my appointments for the remainder of the day and sped off to the local art supply store. I bought a gorgeous leather-bound scrapbook and raced back home. Four and a half hours later, I was a disheveled but satisfied wedding planner. Now that all images and ideas (including the cute jam jars) were displayed together in one place, I could surely prevent dissonance between the wine selections and pew bows!

Finally it felt like everything was in my control. I had a beautiful vision of what our happy day would look like, and I was ready to start making it happen. With my lovingly compiled wedding scrapbook in hand, I began to phone around and accumulate quotes for the invitations, the cake, the dinner, the liquor, the tables and chairs, the tent, the dress, the suits, the flowers, the photographer, the rings, the favours, the music, the marriage license: the basics. After a pleasant conversation about the impact of adding coriander to a standard maple-citrus glaze, I sat down with a coffee and my quotes and began to crunch some numbers. I added the numbers once (oops, I’ll try that again), twice (I had better double-checked the individual quotes), three times (surely I must be miscalculating), four times (I got up to walk around the room before calculating for the fifth time). Then I realized there was no mistake.
Suddenly I was suffocating inside the cloud of bliss, rather than floating happily-ever-after atop. As I stared at the number, the dresses in my mind began melting into a giant marshmallow puff, the rings merged into a single blinding orb, the honeymoons condensed into one looming palm surrounded by infinite neon blue water. I needed to lie down.

Lying on the ground with my legs slightly raised (to prevent shock), I said the number aloud: $27,000. I made sure to enunciate each syllable clearly. Twen-ty sev-en thou-sand dol-lars. What kind of pressure would I feel if I were to invest $27,000 in a single day? Everything would have to be perfect: twenty-four straight hours without accidents, compromises, disappointments, pimples or inclement weather. $27,000. I would feel so obligated to enjoy every possible second that I would likely make myself sick in the process. I don’t want to be sick on my wedding day. This day is only going to happen once. I will not make myself sick on my wedding day!

It is now a few weeks after that meltdown, I am using the wedding magazines as a footrest and the scrapbook as a candle plate. Once again I am in control of the planning. There will be fifty guests for a simple dinner at my parents’ farm. I will buy that beautiful vintage dress I’ve been eyeing up, my girlfriends and I will decorate with the gourds and flowers from my parents’ garden, friends and family will be asked for their best photos from the day, and my fiancé’s mom will bake a cake.

I have no desire to taint our marriage with the perfect wedding day. The more I became absorbed and obsessed by the wedding plans, the further I got from wife-to-be, and the closer I came to bride-to-be. As husband and wife there are so many wonderful adventures to come: travel to new and interesting places, the purchase of our first home, the birth of our first child, the celebration of our twenty-fifth anniversary, the celebration of our fiftieth anniversary! So, I will spend the next year in anticipation of being his wife and enjoy being engaged-to-be-married, with an emphasis on the “to-be-married”.

I am not a Princess. I am no Cinderella who needs saving from a wicked stepmother. I am no Snow White who is waiting to be awoken by my Charming’s kiss. I am the conscious, critically aware, independent woman, who is making a commitment to walk through life with a conscious, critically aware, independent man. That is much more valuable to me then “happily ever after”. The end.