Friday, January 09, 2004

Welcome to the Bride Factory

I made my first foray into a bridal shop yesterday, and all my worst premonitions came true.: I wanted to just go in and browse. However, the minute I walked in the door, I was descended upon by salesladies, one of whom gave me a catalog and directed me to a sofa where I perused throught the 50 styles that must be considered by today's bride. A few minutes into this torture, I pulled aside the lady who looked to be nearer my age and told her, " This is the deal, 'he'wants a big white formal event, and I'm more inclined to go to Vegas." She gushed, "oh, everyone should celebrate their wedding!"

Ack.

I've been involved in at least a thousand weddings over my musical career and I've seen only a handful that would stand out in my memory, mostly because they didn't follow the trends of the day, they weren't about the fashion statements or the pictures. They were focused on the relationship and the future.

I'm with Brooke: It's the marriage, stupid.

Being married to Scott sounds like a hell of a lot of fun. But I'm finding that this whole getting married part is often a real pain in the ass. The preparations, the planning, the headaches, the shopping, the fights with your parents: none of it is particularly romantic or even fun. The thought of eloping in Vegas has crossed my mind many many times. I have never been the kind of person who daydreamed of her perfect wedding--actually, it's never really crossed my mind at all. Ever. I don't usually peruse wedding magazines. . . Breathy descriptions of celebrity weddings leave me cold, though perhaps that's because I'm cynical about how long most of them will actually last. In short, this elevation of The Bride On Her Big Day as the apex of womanly virtue and purpose makes me sniff and shrug, not swoon.

Scott is what I swoon over. The man is a marvel. The idea of getting to spend the rest of our lives in ooey gooey bliss together sounds absolutely wonderful to me. But this jumping-through-hoops thing . . . is incredibly annoying and exhausting, often in direct proportion to Scott's coolness and wonderfulness.


I'm beginning to understand, sister.

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