AIMEE: I’ve got just over a week to go until the big day and I can safely say I’m a bride who’s spiralling out of control. Yes, I waited too long on some things. That personalized-label-on-a-mini-bottle-of-wine-for-the-gift-bags ship has sailed. OK, fine, I’ll get over it. But what I don’t need is all these extra little things going wrong at the very last minute. I’m at the graphic design place downtown begging and pleading with them to do my secret 10-day wedding project in 6 days (not my fault, this one was 100% miscommunication), when I see my voicemail light flashing. More good news: those bags I ordered from that online place that has hundreds of millions of bags in zillions of different sizes? The bags for the TEN POUNDS of champagne-flavored jelly beans I have arriving at my apartment in two days? Yeah, those bags are out of stock. Till May. I have chosen the ONE size of all the millions of bags that happens to be out of stock. And there’s, of course, no time to order more now. It’s naturally too late.
The woman handling all my stationery has resorted to out-and-out threats to get me to hustle on the list of names for the place cards: “If we don’t get it today, I may have to back out.” Swell, I can picture it now: All of those pretty little cards with guests’ names scrawled out in my Unabomber-crazy-person hand-writing. And I have nothing to wear to the rehearsal dinner and, to add insole to injury, I now need new shoes too: as I’m on my way to the subway (late, very late to work), my heel comes off in a grate, it just rips the sucker right off. Reminiscent of JLo in The Wedding Planner, but sans the Matthew McConaughey rescue.