Welcome back to the exciting, once-in-a-lifetime series, Adventures in Brideland! Here's Part I if you need a refresher. This latest installment discusses the finer details of wedding planning. I challenge you to count the puns in this post. Begin!
On Friday, I took the day off from shamelessly job hunting at work so Fiancé and I could drive down to beautiful Cape Cod. Our agenda: meet with the florist and the venue coordinator.
This would be our second face-to-face with the florist. At our initial meeting, we looked through magazines and wedding photos and I pointed out which flowers I liked. Then we talked on the phone, and she instructed me to Pinterest flower arrangements so we could finalize the details at our next meeting. I didn't want to create yet another online account, so I prepared a folder with magazine clippings and printouts of bouquets and arrangements that looked nice.
Naturally, I remembered about the folder as we sped down the highway.
"Can we go back?" I pleaded.
"It would take forty-five minutes," Fiancé replied, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "We would be way behind schedule."
Fortunately, I love the Cloud and I tell it all my secrets. I had saved several pictures on Google Drive. We used my phone to show our florist the flowers that I thought looked good, and I promised to mail her the hard copies when I got back home. She was very gracious about it. She talked about or showed us samples of what we would be getting on the day, based on what we told her at the initial meeting. She had it planned out: the bouquets, the boutonnières, the decorations, the centerpieces. Sweet. The whole thing took twenty minutes. I paid another percentage of the bill (the first installment, to reserve the florist, was 20%), and swore on my life that I would pay the rest upon delivery.
Then we pranced to the venue for our next appointment... and found it deserted, because we arrived too early. We wandered around and took in the exquisitely blue sky and bloody freezing winds. Eventually, our coordinator showed up. She was also gracious and met with us two hours ahead of schedule.
I should have brought water and a snack. I had no idea just how many points would be covered in our discussion. She wanted to know the number of people in the wedding party and what they would be doing. She grilled us on food choices. Would it be the Prix Fixe menu? How many entrees? Which ones? What about cocktail hour? Did we want a display? Did we prefer a couples table or a head table? Would we take the midnight bonfire option if it was available? Are we having a full bar? (OF COURSE.)
And so on and so forth, until we got to the cake. She promised to set up a tasting with the bakery that catered for them. We finished up the meeting, viewed the guest rooms and our suite, and fluttered to the bakery. We polished off a quick lunch and then braced ourselves for the Sugar Attack:
We chose a cake, frosting, and filling in short order. The baker boxed up the leftovers for us. Obviously, there were almost none left of our top choices.
Then we drove back home, pleased with our productive day, and hopped up on sucrose.
Thus did our latest adventure end.
In case you were curious, there was one actual pun and one trick pun. The real pun was "grilled" (get it? "She grilled us on our food choices"? hur hur hur) and the trick pun was "short order," because cakes are baked, not cooked.
Tune in next time, when I reveal the tawdry shenanigans of the bachelorette party! And by "tawdry" I mean "restrained, sophisticated, and tasteful." And by "shenanigans" I mean... well, shenanigans.
This post brought to you by my mom's quote of the day: "I can't even imagine going to the office when you have to leave! Be a tiger! Claw them!"
On Friday, I took the day off from shamelessly job hunting at work so Fiancé and I could drive down to beautiful Cape Cod. Our agenda: meet with the florist and the venue coordinator.
This would be our second face-to-face with the florist. At our initial meeting, we looked through magazines and wedding photos and I pointed out which flowers I liked. Then we talked on the phone, and she instructed me to Pinterest flower arrangements so we could finalize the details at our next meeting. I didn't want to create yet another online account, so I prepared a folder with magazine clippings and printouts of bouquets and arrangements that looked nice.
Naturally, I remembered about the folder as we sped down the highway.
"Can we go back?" I pleaded.
"It would take forty-five minutes," Fiancé replied, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "We would be way behind schedule."
Fortunately, I love the Cloud and I tell it all my secrets. I had saved several pictures on Google Drive. We used my phone to show our florist the flowers that I thought looked good, and I promised to mail her the hard copies when I got back home. She was very gracious about it. She talked about or showed us samples of what we would be getting on the day, based on what we told her at the initial meeting. She had it planned out: the bouquets, the boutonnières, the decorations, the centerpieces. Sweet. The whole thing took twenty minutes. I paid another percentage of the bill (the first installment, to reserve the florist, was 20%), and swore on my life that I would pay the rest upon delivery.
Then we pranced to the venue for our next appointment... and found it deserted, because we arrived too early. We wandered around and took in the exquisitely blue sky and bloody freezing winds. Eventually, our coordinator showed up. She was also gracious and met with us two hours ahead of schedule.
I should have brought water and a snack. I had no idea just how many points would be covered in our discussion. She wanted to know the number of people in the wedding party and what they would be doing. She grilled us on food choices. Would it be the Prix Fixe menu? How many entrees? Which ones? What about cocktail hour? Did we want a display? Did we prefer a couples table or a head table? Would we take the midnight bonfire option if it was available? Are we having a full bar? (OF COURSE.)
And so on and so forth, until we got to the cake. She promised to set up a tasting with the bakery that catered for them. We finished up the meeting, viewed the guest rooms and our suite, and fluttered to the bakery. We polished off a quick lunch and then braced ourselves for the Sugar Attack:
 |
| This is usually the point in the wedding planning when the groom perks up. |
We chose a cake, frosting, and filling in short order. The baker boxed up the leftovers for us. Obviously, there were almost none left of our top choices.
Then we drove back home, pleased with our productive day, and hopped up on sucrose.
Thus did our latest adventure end.
In case you were curious, there was one actual pun and one trick pun. The real pun was "grilled" (get it? "She grilled us on our food choices"? hur hur hur) and the trick pun was "short order," because cakes are baked, not cooked.
Tune in next time, when I reveal the tawdry shenanigans of the bachelorette party! And by "tawdry" I mean "restrained, sophisticated, and tasteful." And by "shenanigans" I mean... well, shenanigans.
This post brought to you by my mom's quote of the day: "I can't even imagine going to the office when you have to leave! Be a tiger! Claw them!"
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