Colors

I’m getting married.

Previously marriage to me meant that my post-menopausal body wouldn’t be found in my apartment while my forty feral cats ate my PhD diploma and the Nanny episode I had been watching played constantly on a loop.

Even after I met my fiance, it still seemed like  a pretty cool, easy experience. Of course we would get married. We loved each other and wanted to be a family. That was obviously the most important thing. And the incidental stupid wedding stuff seemed kind of cool- I’d get to buy a wedding dress! And register at Target! (For, as of today, four things. Any suggestions? We’re good on Crock Pots.) That’s pretty awesome.

But apparently the incidental stupid wedding stuff is OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE OMG.

I don’t know if you guys realized this (because I didn’t) but apparently the most important thing about marriage is not the sacramental joining of two (wait, three) lives. Nope. That’s adorable, but the really important thing? COLORS.

“What are your colors?”

“We need to think about colors.”

“You should do something in your colors.”

“You really shouldn’t be thinking about your relationship or the wedding Mass or your master’s thesis or that baby because you DON’T HAVE COLORS YET ARE YOU EVEN A WOMAN?”

Say what?

I mean, my first reaction when somebody asked what my colors were was to think, “Uh, whatever colors make my guests cry the least? Are you new here? I’ve got way bigger fish to fry than frickin’ colors.”

Colors are, apparently, what makes or breaks your marriage.

Photographers ask about them. Minimum wage dress consultants ask about them. The Knot.com (a wealth of useless information for people who don’t really understand what marriage is or are maybe trying to avoid writing a seminar paper *cough*) has a helpful chart and then links to “hundreds of decor ideas in every hue!”

Well. That’s unfortunate. Because I’m bad at picking colors. I just…really don’t care.

I’m wearing a white dress. (Because I’m one of approximately three women left in the United States that can legitimately wear one so dammit I am going to.) I told my two bridesmaids to buy long black dresses or short whatever I don’t really care just show up okay and here, have some Kleenex, the groom has the box. (Because I’m nice and black is flattering and easy to find outside of a bridal shop.)

Finally I got so irritated with people asking me that I was like, “$&*# it, my color is red.” I’m carrying red roses, there’s exposed brick at the place we’re having the reception. Red. That’s our color. Will it show up anywhere else except those two things mentioned above? Probably not. Because I think colored vests are usually tacky and I don’t want to make people think I’m more of a whore than they already do, probably not, no. But LOOK WORLD, I HAVE A COLOR DAMMIT.

Sheesh. In fact, it turns out I’m bad at the whole wedding thing. I bought a wedding dress. That was fun (well, once I found one that made me look like NOT the broad side of a barn.) I looked at stuff to register for, but like I said, we’re only up to like four things. And one of them is a donut maker. Because I like donuts. I know I need a DJ and photographer and a card box and a whatever, look, I just don’t care.

Booking the church was important to me. Finding a reception place was far less important but still pretty cool because I felt like it was official once I didn’t have to have people coming back to my house for dinner afterwards. (Not that it wouldn’t have been lovely! But there’s horse poop.)

The other stuff? Eh.

I’m getting married. We’re going to be a (very very large) family. That’s the important thing. There’s no color that can top that.

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