No, motherfucker. I got engaged eleven hours ago. Give me a second to let it sink in.
But then time passed, the newness wore off, my ring--which, I began to notice, I fiddled with constantly--wore a tender pink crevice into the skin on my fourth finger, as if it were something I'd worn for decades instead of weeks, and the question persists: "Have you set a date yet?"
Filled with excitement and joy, my answer never living up to their bloated expectations. "Not yet," I offer, apologetically, as I watch them deflate like a whoopee cushion under a fat kid's ass. They wheeze out a supportive, "You have time," or, "Just enjoy being engaged," but I can smell their dissatisfaction.
Am I the only one whose heart is racing at the idea of planning such a massive event? It's not the I don't adore my fiancé, I'm addicted to him like love smack, but I'm having a really un-bridal time of wrapping my mind around the excitement that comes with spending $35,000. On a single day. There have been entire years of my life where I haven't made that much money.
Still, I spend my days and nights on Pinterest, compiling lists of DIYs I will never endeavor to tackle, ogling dresses I can't afford, and being made to question if my diamond is big enough. Seriously, who are these dudes bequeathing nine carat crazinesses? What is this? The NFL? But I'm addicted, I can't stop. I Pin myself to sleep most nights, dreaming of a wedding only Kanye can give Kim. So what's a savvy, semi-broke bride to do?
We soldier on!
There are cruddy venues that smell like soup and/or old people to visit! Caterers who charge $15 a plate for cake they just have to slice to contact! And favors no one will want to DIY! Let's get this wedding rollin'. It's gonna be a wild bride.
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