A few months ago Brian and I RSVP’d yes to a wedding reception (the ceremony was across the country). I had already purchased and wrapped a gift, but had absent-mindedly forgotten a card to go with it. Naturally, I passed this duty onto Brian when I went to work this morning. Unfortunately, the reception was scheduled to commence at the exact hour I’d be getting off work. Considering the distance, it looked like we’d be arriving a minimum of about an hour late. Knowing this, in the morning I went ahead and laid out the outfit into which I’d be making a fast and furious change. Nice pants, nice top, jewelry, etc.
With the impending hurricane, Brian wasn’t sure if it’d be wise to keep our reception plans. But if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s going back on my committed word. We weighed our options.
Me, calling Brian on the way home from work, “I don’t know. What do you think? The reception started 20 minutes ago, but won’t end for a while. The winds aren’t supposed to get bad until 8pm.”
Brian, “I don’t know. Do you think they’re still having it?”
Me, “Well, I hope they’d call if they weren’t!”
Brian, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Me, “I don’t know what kind of reception this is. What if they’ve counted on us for food? I’d hate to waste their money.”
Brian, “That’s true. Well, maybe we’d better go.”
Me, “But is it worth risking our lives for two plates of food?”
Brian, “I really don’t know what to do.”
Me, “We can leave early.”
Me, “Well, are you dressed and ready to go, like, RightNow?”
Me, “Have you showered? Do you have some nice dress pants you can wear?”
Brian, “No, I don’t have any dress pants.”
Me, “Really? None on your side of the closet?”
Brian, “I’m wearing them. They’re dirty. Can’t I just wear jeans?”
Me, “It’s a reception. …Hold on. Let me call Sherri. She’s there. I’ll see what the scene is.”
I called Sherri. No answer.
I called Brian.
Me, “She’s not answering. Listen. I’m already wearing nice jeans. I’ll just wear a dressy top. You find a nice pair of jeans and a nice top. Go ahead and tip the iron on and I’ll iron your shirt.”
So I arrived home after managing all wedding reception logistics in four minutes flat.
Me, ironing, “Do you have the card?”
Me, shaving, “Did you sign it?”
Brian hands me the card. Oh, it’s a pretty card. The kind with crafty texture and a dazzling wedding dress on the front. I took a closer look.
“Happy Wedding Shower.”
Me, “Brian! This is a wedding shower card!”
Brian, blank stare, “…Isn’t that where we’re going? That’s not what this is?”
Me, “No! It’s a reception.”
Brian, “I don’t know. There were so many kinds of cards. I was so confused.”
Later, driving to the reception, Brian continued from out of nowhere, “So… Explain this to me again. What’s a wedding shower?”
(I didn’t tell him that before I licked the envelope shut I wrote, “PS-Brian picked out the card.” Isn’t that pathetic of me?)