'Tis official. I have a bridesmaid. Uno. One.
And so the daunting task begins. We agreed upon five attendants each in our bridal party. The initial plan was four, but after much discussion, contemplation and "please-oh-please don't make me choose," we settled the matter like adults, and settled on five.
And as of yesterday, I have one.
You know, this is a suicide mission of sorts. A task almost as important as choosing one's bride, or groom, in my case. Obviously. One must choose a Maid of Honor, and quite frankly, Fox should just host a reality game show to make all bridesmaids duke it out for the chosen spot. That's much more logical, of course, than making one actually make the decision themselves. However, I'm lucky in that I have a single sibling, female even, who is perfect for the position. (But, sshhh. I have yet to officially "ask" her, so don't tell. I have a plan. Dang).
So that leaves me with three vacant positions. And, OK, I'll be honest, in my head I have planned the perfect bridal party. (Well, for my side, anyway). But actually choosing a bridesmaid is like getting a tattoo. You can't take it back. In a year, when I decide it's ugly and no way, I don't want that thing anymore, there's no laser surgery to remove it. (That I can afford, at least).
Now, don't get me wrong, I don't anticipate wanting to extricate any bridesmaids from my arm, er, wedding, within the next year (and 23 days), but you know, it's a decision. And I hate decisions. Especially decisions that require choosing amongst actual people.
So I'll continue my quest to create the perfect she-bridal party, and one by one I'll put it together. Sort of like Frankenstein, except, you know, minus all that scary stuff. The Knot (oh yes, don't you worry, I registered on the Mother of all wedding planning websites) tells me not to worry, that there's a place for all the special ladies in my life other than being a bridesmaid. Like, you know, keeping an eye on the guest book. Helping me out of my underwear when I have to pee. Things like that. I also here the runner up for Miss America loves coming in second place. The equivalent of babysitting the guest book at a wedding.
So in the meantime, I'll worry about the 14.8 million other decisions I have to make. Finding a dress. Deciding on music. Choosing a color. Writing my own vows. Figuring out who sits where. Who pays for what. Where does all this money come from? Oh. The. Madness.
But in happier news, we're narrowing down(ish) on a color. It's called Pool. Quite pretty. And then there are seven other shades of blue like Calypso. Atlantic. Island. Whoa. What happened to light blue? Dark blue?