This weekend I had scheduled another big day of wedding to-do's, this time with my mom and sisters in tow. I had appointment schedule to meet with the florist, my hair stylist, and my make-up artist. I seriously began the day with SO much excitement, and just knew by the end of the day I was going to look beautiful and finally be able to visualize what I would look like for my big day. I even teased Andrew all morning that I was going to take down my hair and take off the make-up before I got home so that he wouldn't see how I was going to look for our wedding. I felt very confident and excited!!!
The morning began at the florist. Let me paint you a picture.
About 3 months ago my mom called our would-be florist and spoke with her on the phone about every last detail of flowers needed for our wedding. She gave us wonderful prices, was so warm and excited and all was well.
About 2 months ago, our florist up and peaced out and sold the business to a friend of hers. So my mom immediately called the new lady, whom I'm going to be polite and change her name to Sharita to protect her identity. Sharita spoke with my mom, and assured her everything would be fine with her being the new owner, and my mom went through our list again and all was well.
Saturday. My sisters, mom and myself arrive at Sharita's Shop. We politely go up to the counter and tell her why we were there. We had called ahead and made an appointment, but she was clearly very annoyed that we were suddenly all there. Mom pulled out her handy dandy notebook where she had written all the things. Every flower. Every price. Every conversation. And she starts by going over the large arrangements for the altar, which Sharita had promised us would be a certain price. The rest went vaguely like this:
Sharita: Um. Where did you get those prices?
Mom: From you.
Sharita: No you didn't. I can't do anything for those prices.
Mom: But...you gave these prices to me. Twice. I wrote them down.
Sharita: No I didn't.
Mom: Yes you did. So did Sharonda.
(At this point, Shardona, whose name has also been changed to protect her identity, just happened to be in the back of the store that she no longer owns.)
Mom: ShaRONDA! Get over here!
Enter: Sharonda
Sharonda: Yes Judy?
Mom: Tell Sharita you gave me these prices.
Sharonda: (Looking at prices) I didn't give you those prices.
Mom: YES YOU DID!!
Sharonda: No, I didn't. I would never have agreed to such low prices.
Mom: You AND Sharita BOTH talked to me on TWO separate occasions and gave me the SAME PRICES.
(At this point, it was only by the grace of God himself that my mother did not crawl over that counter. These women were accusing her of either 1. Lying 2. Being crazy or 3. Both)
Sharonda: I don't own this store anymore. I'm going home.
Sharita: Oooo bye girl! Have a good day!!! *turns to my mom, coldly* I can't give you these prices.
Mom: For the love of...
Me: OKAY STOP! Everyone stop. Sharita. Work with me. What CAN you give me for these prices?
She then flipped open her catalogue like it was the hardest thing anyone has ever asked any human being on this planet to do. Ever. She shows me one janky flower and says, "That. With some greens."
Me: (calmly) Okay...well, now, I need more than that. How much will it be to do exactly what I want?
Sharita: $25.00 more.
Mom: Oh for the love, we've been arguing over $25?! You're being difficult over $25?! I'll pay it FOR her. Make the arrangements. Now. The boutinierres...
Sharita: I can't do those for this price.
Me: (through gritted teeth) Let's just stop while we're ahead. I want the pricing for the most basic thing you can do. This is my budget. It has already been busted slightly. Just you tell me what you can do at this point, write it down, sign it, and date it.
Sharita: (rolls eyes) Well, I can do.....(and she lists all the things) for.....$100 over your budget.
Me: Fine. Write it down. Date it. And give me a hard copy of it. Signed.
So she does, and then the very final thing was my bouquet. I am not carrying in a traditional bouquet. My mom was given a white leather Bible the day she got married almost 50 years ago. I am carrying that Bible in place of a bouquet, and tied to it will be one single orchid tied on with lace and purple ribbon.
Mom: Sharita. We need a purple flower for the Bible.
Sharita: I can't do purple. It ain't in season.
Mom: I NEED THE...
Me: SHARITA. What CAN you do?
Sharita: A white orchid. For $25.00 more.
Me: (Grinding my teeth) Fine.
Mom hands her the Bible and tells her to keep it so it can be arranged properly. I look straight at Sharita and say, "Do NOT lose that Bible. It's been in our family for 50 years." Well, that did it. She was pissed that I said that apparently. She took the Bible and the ribbon (which WE had to provide) and put it in a brown bag and stapled our receipt to the bag and put it under the table, all without losing eye contact with me.
Sharita: Anything else ladies?
Mom: No.
Me: No.
Sharita: Bye.
As we left the store, both of my sisters were already out on the curb. Leslie was fairly certain if she had stayed she would have been arrested for punching Sharita in the face. I am happy that it is all sorted out, but I'm also slightly scared that I'm going to have nothing for flowers other than baby's breath and one tall weed.
Shit happens.
After the florist I had my hair appointment, which went awesome. Then we headed back to mom's house to have our make-up done. The make-up lady arrived and I offered to go first while everyone else had dinner. She was about half-way through putting my make-up on when somehow we randomly ended up having my sisters try on their bridesmaids dresses so we could fit the belts on them.
I'm sitting at the table watching my sisters, and my eye starts to itch. Not thinking much about it, I reached up and rubbed it a little. Well, it kept itching, so I grabbed a damp paper towel to lay on it to cool it down. I had sneezed a few times that day, so I was just annoyed thinking my allergies were probably flaring up.
I keep watching my sisters, and my eye starts to twitch a little. Leslie stops and looks at me and asks if I'm okay, to which I say yes I'm fine, just had a small allergy moment.
Well, my make-up lady comes back over and by this point my eyes are pouring out water by the bucket load and starting to burn a smidge. She turned my face towards the light to finish my make-up and is all, "Um...did you have a blister on your eye earlier? I just don't remember seeing that. Hmm..." to which I grab a mirror. I look at my eye and it is swollen and red and watering, and a blister is forming under it. I'm all, "Um no...sure didn't. Was all blister free 10 minutes ago..." And literally as I'm looking in the mirror, it begins turning red and purple and went from a slight bump to going all the way across under my eye. My make-up lady goes "GET IT OFF!!" and a flurry began. She began putting makeup remover all over my face, while my mother literally LEAPS like a gazelle and runs through the house, magically re-appearing in record time with eye-makeup remover and cotton balls.
The more they took off my make-up, the larger the blisters grew and the redder I got. So my mom starts digging through a drawer where she finds some Benadryl from like 1985 that she wasn't even sure where she got it. It wasn't even in a bottle. Just some pills. Chillin'.
So I eat the pills straight up, and dart to the bathroom and starting sticking my head in the sink and rinsing my eyes out with water. My entire face is blood red by this point, both eyes watering, and my right eye was swollen shut and had blisters underneath it. My make-up lady is pacing the house, probably deciding if she should call her lawyer or an ambulance. I emerge from the bathroom and sat in a chair and covered my face with an ice cold washcloth.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the swelling began to lower and my vision began to return. The blister stayed large, but didn't seem as angry. Very quietly from the corner my make-up lady goes, "Perhaps we should reschedule?".
After about an hour it was decided by all that I was fine, and my mom put Neosporin on my eye because she read it on The Google that it was safe (TBD.....), and my make-lady scooped me up in a huge bear-hug and patted my back like she was trying to save me from choking on a tire. She was so happy I was alive. I was exhausted, and had no interest in trying to save the day, so I opted to go home instead.
I walked in the house that night, and poor Andrew who was expecting to see his beautiful bride all dolled and beautiful was greeted by my red swollen face greased up with Neosporin, my hair running wild in every direction, and in a sleepy Benadryl induced haze. He scooped me up and told me how beautiful I am and that he'd be just fine marrying me looking just like that. I just started to ugly cry, which made me even prettier, and finally just went to bed.
Shit happens.
Finally, in my last bit of news, this weekend also marked me finally after many long months, deciding on the final music selections for the wedding. I filled out the contract for the string quartet that we hired. (They are kind of amazing. Visit their website: http://www.volarequartet.com/ )
I had Andrew pick up a money order to send them, and I filled everything out, so happy to finally have it all taken care of. Fast forward to Monday. The head of the quartet emails me to apologize for the delay in responding to my email, blaming his delayed responses on the fact that he spent the entire weekend moving into his new apartment. In Lexington.
Well, that is SO great!! You have a new place. Woohoo! One teeeeeeny, teeeeeeny problem. I mailed the contract and the money on Friday. To Cleveland.
He responded immediately with an "Oh! Crap!" (Yes, that was the actual first line of the email) and proceeds to tell me how sorry he was that he must have forgotten to tell me about the move. Yep. Sure did. And then proceeds to tell me how he *tried* to set up a forwarding address on his mail but didn't have much luck. But that he's sure all will be fine and he'll "keep an eye out" for the contract and payment.
So somewhere between here and Cleveland my music contract and a money order are floating around having the time of their life. And I'm just supposed to "wait it out" and see if it arrives in the next week or so.
Shit happens.
So there you have it my fellow princesses. Be wary of plans, for plans go wrong. I started out pretty stressed and ugly crying and falling apart as each of these things unfolded over the past 48 hours or so. But finally, after much thought and consideration, I've reached this conclusion:
This day is about Andrew, myself, God, love, family, and all things that surround us. It will be beautiful, and none of these little trials will affect us in the end. We will have hilarious stories to tell and memories to share with our kids. One day when my daughter gets married, I will be able to have patience and understanding and hopefully guide her along the process. So I can give her a hug, gaze longingly at the beautiful woman she has become, and quietly say, "Sweet baby girl...shit happens."
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