DC Scout: How’d You Know?

Today I received five copies of the Washington Post’s “DC Scout: We Love a Wedding (sniff, sniff)” newsletter. It was more than mildly annoying; every few minutes my BlackBerry would buzz impatiently right as a new email was arriving in my inbox onscreen. I then received it as a forward from a friend who sits across from me. So I guess you could say, with the BlackBerry, I received this damn email 10 times. That’s just too many emails about weddings. When I tried to unsubscribe from DC Scout, the Washington Post’s website told me I wasn’t even subscribed to it. What gives with the wedding spam?

But DC Scout, how’d you know? IP and I briefly talked about our wedding on Tuesday night, touching on how we’d like to keep the guest list small and our parents out of our collective hair. Said friend who emailed me the DC Scout newsletter had just asked on Tuesday if I had any special news. While IP and I are not the most romantic couple in the world, I don’t think he’s going to pop the question over any old weekend while we’re having beer at the dinner table. He’s always said he’s going to make it special, so questions about new news always bug me –and the day after I get engaged, you can bet the whole world will know (including you, blogging world!). However, with all the wedding info coming at me from various sides, IP included, I’m already beginning to feel wedding weary. And we’re not even engaged yet. Imagine what I’m going to be like when I actually have to make decisions.

My biggest problem is that I don’t like being fussed over at all. As soon as any hairdresser, make up artist, dresser, or overeager mother starts to lay hands on me, I’ll lose it. If there’s one thing I cherish, it’s personal space. If there’s one thing I don’t really like, it’s special attention. That’s why I would rather think of our impending nuptials as a party rather than a wedding with a ceremony. I would prefer to be married Simpsons-style as follows (substituting IP and WordNerd for Homer and Marge; preferably I will not be pregnant):

Minister: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and this casino to join… [points at Homer]
Homer: Homer.
Minister: … and … [points at Marge]
Marge: Marge.
Minister: … in holy matrimony. Beautiful. Do you, Marjorie Bouvier take Homer J. Simpson to be your lawful wedded husband?
Marge: I do.
Minister: Homer, same question, names reversed.
Homer: I do.
Minister: Then, by the power vested in me by the state gaming commission, I pronounce you man and wife. Here’s ten dollars worth of chips. You may kiss the bride.

See? It’d be so quick.

However, as elopement and a quickie marriage would find us both under the wrath of our mothers (and I think my mother is the one to fear in this equation), we will have to do a wedding. We declare that it will be small (no more than 50 people, which mean that acquaintances will almost certainly get axed), have good food and booze, will not have a dance floor, will not cost a ridiculous amount of money, and will focus more on being a fun social gathering rather than a retrospective of our relationship. It will be green (no flowers, hopefully minimal impact on carbon footprints from those attending, eco-friendly jewelry all around, will probably involve legit carbon credits, and will strive to not waste money on printed invitations), it will not be religious, it will not be designed to impressed, it will be controlled solely by us (i.e., we hold the purse strings), and we will not invite those who would seek to mar the day by just being their typical asshole selves. At this point in my life, I am far beyond caring what other people think of me and am more than happy to go with our own personal style. IP, fearing the big to-dos he’s seen in his life, agrees. Even if it is a party, its main purpose it to make us the Mister and the Missus – the way we choose to do it is paramount. We’re in our thirties; princess ball gowns and tuxes are for the young ’uns.

There is one luxury I am a sucker for, though: pictures. I want a wedding photojournalist who can document our wedding in the spirit that it happened; no static poses that look like really bad prom pictures. There, I said it. These types of pictures aren’t cheap, but I’d really rather invest in solid documentary evidence which I can present to IP during any argument as opposed to springing for a Vera Wang dress.

However, all of the above is pointless in the context of the DC Scout newsletter – we will not be marrying in DC. We will be marrying in the cheap showiness of Ann Arbor, Michigan, home of the leaders, best, and champions of the West. So I kindly ask DC Scout to refrain from sending another 10 emails; the location, as I said to IP when he hinted that his family might try to influence the process, is a non-negotiable. It’s where we went to school and where the beginning of us, well, began. IP may make fun of Michigan, but it brought us together – and that’s what ultimately matters.

And I won’t be sharing horrid wedding stories on Facebook, DC Scout. When this happens in the future, I hope to have no wedding horror stories!