It took some convincing, but I finally talked The Fiancé into cowriting a post about our road to the wedding—and yes, there was some begging involved. In all honesty, I had to stop and think about the idea, too. Handing over the blog means giving up control, which is not an easy thing to do. But these are modern times, my friends, and anyone with a laptop has a voice, so even The Fiancé deserves to be heard.
She Said: In several posts, I jokingly referred to myself as “The Accidental Bride.” Some readers didn’t particularly like the tag; one gave the relationship three years. What can I say? Even though I’m a bride-to-be, I’ll probably always think of myself as the Last Girl Standing.
He Said: If you’re The Accidental Bride, what does that make me, The Incidental Groom? Here’s a little-known fact: Before our second first date, Sarah said to me, “I am a very, very, very tough girl to date.” She didn’t specifically mention her blog until a few dates in, but I can’t say she didn’t warn me.
She Said: We’re having a pretty short engagement: six months. Our swift courtship led some friends and family to speculate as to whether: a) I was pregnant; or b) I was holding a gun to his head. No and no. When you’re in your 30s—I’m 34; he’s 32—and you finally meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, to quote When Harry Met Sally, you want the rest of your life to start right now. Plus, the idea of spending a year planning a wedding didn’t sound like much fun to either of us. That excitement wears off the minute you get your first outrageous bid from a wedding vendor.
He Said: This is all I remember: On Valentine’s Day this year, I told Sarah I was serious about wanting to take the next step with her; I even gave her a wedding magazine to show her how serious I was. I hadn’t really thought about the actual proposal, but two days later I was standing in her parents’ kitchen, asking for their blessing. Within a week we were thinking about wedding dates. A few weeks later, I proposed (officially, with a ring). It happened that fast. I’m glad we’re going the short-engagement route—but, guys, don’t ever give a girl a wedding magazine as a gift unless you’re prepared to marry her right away.
She Said: Although I’m still convinced I wasn’t born with the bride gene, I’ve been better at this planning stuff than I would have thought. My mom has been a huge help; hey, if I were marrying Mom, this would be cake. The Fiancé has been somewhat helpful; he met with bands while I sat on the couch nursing my knee. From what I hear, most grooms don’t lift a finger. But when it came time to register, it was a different story, and picking flowers didn’t do much for him, either—not that I’m expecting back flips over a bouquet of roses.
He Said: Someone once told me that, when it came time to register, I’d get to wield a scanner in the shape of a gun. Sure, that got me a little excited. I’d even heard there were drinks involved. Let this be a warning to all prospective grooms: There are no scanner guns or alcohol at Material Possessions. As soon as I walked in, I saw a shiny green plate that I liked, so I picked it up and said, “I like this.” Three simple words, not much to argue with. How wrong I was. Sarah promptly set it down. “No, you don’t,” she said. Nothing is what it seems in Weddingland: Big dinner plates are apparently “chargers,” and forks are called “flatware.” No offense to Sarah: I’d rather the Cubs lose to the Sox than pick out more appliances we don’t have room for or know how to use. And the flowers? Come on. We spent an hour talking about eight different kinds of roses for the centerpiece. At one point, I saw Sarah almost start to cry. She must have gotten a thorn stuck in her finger. Or maybe she was as bored to tears as I was.