It’s common knowledge that you should refrain from telling people what you plan on naming your kids. Dean mentions a TV show where some guy told his friends what he wanted to name his first kid, then one of those friends got a dog and gave it that same name.
A former pregnant coworker came in flustered one Monday morning because her mom hated the baby name she picked out. We all thought the name Jolene was cute, but the soon-to-be grandma agonized that the kid would be teased.
Even though I haven’t had a kid, I kinda understand the issue because whenever I tell people what my wedding plans are, there’s always suppressed agony. I told my sister I wanted to wear flaming red shoes like the rest of my bridal party and she thought I had a mental lapse. “Why would you wear red shoes? You should wear white. Why don’t you wear my white wedding shoes?”
I don’t want to wear anyone else’s wedding stuff. No one has the same style that I do. I have cultivated my own unique style for the past 34 years. Please no tears. I went to Berkeley. I spent four years of college scavenging thrift stores for clothes. My style is funky, vintage, and sometimes loud. Yes, LOUD! I will wear neon red shoes to my wedding. Why does anyone care? As long as I’m happy, right?
Another friend straight-up handed me her wedding dress. I am not kidding. She handed it to me and said it would be perfect. It was poofy and very very long. And it had an empire waist. Empire waists are so 19th century. I shuddered, “I can’t. Really, it’s just too big.” I’m barely a size 0. This was coming from a girl who’s a size 8!
She continued to smile as if her act of kindness would win her the Nobel Peace Prize. “Take it. You can alter it. Do whatever you want. And look at this gorgeous veil. You’re going to look so beautiful.” Then she tossed it in my face. I could barely say good-bye beneath all the yards of tacky taffeta.
Here’s my advice for anyone planning a wedding. Unless you’re having the tried-and-true fairy tale wedding with the Cinderella dress, the limo, the overlooked flowers and centerpieces, don’t tell anyone what’s going on. Unless, of course it’s me.